The Wake
by Zining
Summary: A street urchin discovers the futility of making an enemy of Amano Ginji. Chapter 5 up.
1. First Encounters

(Standard disclaimers apply)

**The Wake **

_First Encounters_

His heart hammered against his ribcage in nervous anticipation as he scrutinized his next potential victim, who had every appearance of an easy mark. Granted, the blond teenager was quite tall-- a foot or so taller than himself-- and well-muscled, but any sign of threat he exhibited was diminished considerably by the fluorescent-orange safety traffic cone he was wearing on his head, as well as the tawdry sandwich boards draped across his shoulders. In fact, his victim looked so downright ridiculous that he would be doing the public a great service by removing such an eyesore from the sights of decent folk.

His objective was clear in his mind-- to lure his victims, more often than not by provocation, into a back alley where a small group of Poison gang members would be waiting in ambush. Money was not their objective, but rather, a chance of bloodshed that would serve as an initiation rite for newcomers who wished to join the gang. His long-awaited turn had finally come today. A display of his determination and ruthlessness was a prerequisite to his acceptance into the gang, which was why he had spent the whole morning choosing his target carefully. He had shied away from preys who were too easy; namely, frail old ladies and primary school kids. He believed himself to be better than that. Only people worse than trash would find satisfaction in overpowering those who were not able to fend for themselves. As he was not expected to defeat his victim in single combat (a few gang members were allowed to help out), he decided to choose a somewhat challenging opponent who was most likely a fellow hoodlum as well, if those unruly blond spikes were any indication. Squaring his shoulders resolutely, he sauntered towards his ludicrously dressed victim who was waving a handful of flyers about in an almost comical way and reciting his corny sales pitch. The voice that drifted into his ears sounded even more youthful than its owner appeared to be.

XXXXXX

"We're the Get Backers, and our success rate is almost a hundred percent! If there's someone or something that you wish to 'get back', we promise to… GACK!" A strong gust of wind had seized the flyers advertising the Get Backers' retrieval services into the air in a merry swirl, forcing Ginji to dart and hop around the place in his desperate attempt to salvage whatever he could. His movements were greatly hampered by the sandwich boards and his makeshift attention-grabbing 'hat' tumbled off in the process. If it was in Ginji's nature to cuss and swear, he would have done so then. As it was not, he could only respond to his misfortune with a resigned sigh. "That's twenty-six flyers gone at 12 yen a copy, making that a total of… two sushi rolls. Ban-chan is going to kill me," lamented Ginji wretchedly as he counted the number of flyers in his possession.

He often wished that he was less of a burden and more of a help to his partner. Ban had always been the more knowledgeable and competent member of their two-man team, even if he did tend to lose his temper more easily and display it in much more destructive ways. Most of the debts they had incurred were the results of Ban smashing his fist into Honky Tonk's brick walls, crushing coffee mugs and mobile phones in his infamous 200 kilogram grip and brutalizing his Ladybug on and off the road with his maniacal driving. Their dream of living in an apartment of their own instead of sleeping in the car and showering in the park fountain was forever elusive and distant. However, Ginji had never regretted choosing a life as a Get Backer with Ban, despite having to live in squalor and poverty. Besides, it wasn't as if he had been living in luxury or even comfort during his days as the Thunder Emperor of Mugenjou. It was Ban who had helped him seal away Raitei, the part of him that had earned him his fearsome title, thereby ending the reign of the Volts and its emperor.

Ginji broke out of his reverie when more than a dozen flyers were shoved right under his nose. Snatching the flyers with a cry of joy, Ginji turned towards his kind helper with eyes shining with gratitude. Standing before him was a dark-haired boy who could not have been older than fourteen. What caught Ginji's attention were the pensive eyes, which looked far too old to belong on such a young face. His intuition, uncanny as it was but always accurate, told him that some incident in the past had forced this boy to grow up too quickly. Just like him.

"And you dare call yourself a retrieval specialist? You couldn't even recover all the flyers you've just lost," snorted the boy derisively.

Far from being offended, Ginji smiled gratefully at the boy. "Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it."

His reaction noticeably flustered the boy, who then appeared to be thinking rapidly. When the boy opened his mouth, it was to issue forth caustic words again. "Faugh! I didn't do it to help you! One of your damned flyers blew past my face just now and I've sustained a paper cut from it. See here?" One finger pointed accusatorily at a most un-paper cut-like bruise on his cheek. "You can't deny that those flyers are yours, so how're you gonna compensate me?"

Ginji, who used to head a gang of his own, was no stranger to the art of picking a fight with imagined affronts or contrived excuses. What he could not figure out was why the boy was so eager to provoke someone who was obviously larger and stronger than him. It had always been the practice of prudent gangsters to start fights only with opponents they were confident of defeating. This boy was either very brave or very stupid, and Ginji was inclined to believe that it was the former. "Would you like me to tend that wound for you?" asked Ginji, a polite smile still gracing his lips. "Ban-chan and I had gotten into some really nasty near-death situations in the past and I'm more or less adept at bandaging superficial wounds by now. We just couldn't afford hospital care, you see…"

The boy cut him off rudely. "No way am I letting your grubby hands anywhere near my face. It's money I want! I should be getting at least fifty thousand yen for the pain and suffering you've just inflicted on me!"

Ginji scratched the back of his head abashedly. "I'm afraid we're dead broke at the moment. The police just impounded Ban-chan's car yesterday, and we even had to borrow cash from Natsumi to… What's wrong?"

The boy was studying him with a mixture of wonder and exasperation on his face. "Why are you willing to put up with me?" asked the boy after a moment of silence. "We both know that I'm being unreasonable. Why aren't you getting angry? Don't you have _any_ pride at all?"

Ginji tried to suppress a grin. "That's because you made a critical mistake right at the beginning."

A puzzled frown creased the boy's forehead. "Mistake?"

"You shouldn't have helped me pick those flyers up. How can I possibly get mad at you after that?" Ginji chortled and reached out to ruffle the dark bangs of the boy playfully. The boy tensed and swiftly jerked his head back, his glaring eyes laden with wariness and suspicion. Ginji removed the sandwich boards he was wearing and placed them on the pavement. "I might not have fifty thousand yen, but I do have enough to buy you an ice-cream. Would you care to join me?"

The boy's face flushed with outrage. "I'm not some… **kid**," he spat the word as if it tasted foul in his mouth. "… whom you can buy off with ice-cream!!"

"You don't like ice-cream?" asked Ginji mildly.

"That's not the point!" hollered the boy in what was close to a tantrum.

XXXXXX

For the umpteenth time, he asked himself just what the hell he was doing at the ice-cream parlour. He was not supposed to be there. If everything had gone according to plan, his carefully chosen victim would have been spitting blood and writhing in agony at this moment, instead of ordering…

"That's one scoop of vanilla and one scoop of pita… pitaco ice-cream, please."

"It's _pistachio_ ice-cream, you idiot," he snapped truculently.

"Pistachio," amended the spiky-haired blond in cheerful tones.

It was unbelievable. He still could not detect the slightest hint of irritation after all the abusive language he had used. All the insults, taunts and expletives that he had aimed at the older youth just seemed to ricochet off harmlessly. He never had to work so hard to piss someone off before, and never before this had he failed so miserably. Almost all the people he knew had a couple of raw spots or half-healed wounds in their souls which could be chafed to set them off in a rage. _You just need to know which buttons to push._

"And don't forget the crushed almond toppings," he added petulantly.

"Hai."

As he watched the youth beside him empty every pocket in his sleeveless jacket to come up with sufficient coins to pay for the ice-cream, he curiously wondered what were the buttons he would need to push in this youth in order to shatter his good humour. Even as he contemplated this, an image of the youth's gentle smile and kindly face flashed in his mind, and he suddenly found that he was no longer curious.

"Here you go."

He took the proffered waffle cone with double scoops of ice-cream and made a conscious effort not to mutter a 'thank you'. "Aren't you having any yourself?" he asked. He had noticed how hungrily the youth had gazed at the tantalizing flavours when they first entered the parlour. One would almost think that he had been starving for days.

The youth shook his head stoically. "I don't wish to spoil my appetite for dinner."

_Liar._ Most probably the youth could not afford another cone after having spent the last of his meagre savings on the one he had just given to him. Apparently, the youth was not exaggerating much when he claimed to be dead broke. _He really is an idiot._

Under the cover of wolfing down his favourite dessert, he quietly reconsidered his next course of action. He could no longer find it in his heart to carry out his original plan on his blissfully oblivious victim. That was the troublesome consequence of getting too involved with his victims-- a foolish act akin to getting emotionally attached to the chicken that was about to be slaughtered and dunked into the stew pot. He knew better, but that knowledge did not stop him from taking up the youth's offer of ice-cream. As much as he hated to admit it, his decision was partly due to the fact that he felt an inexplicable sense of peace in the youth's presence. He had not felt so relaxed and at ease for a long time. It was as if a load that he was not even aware of carrying had been lifted away just by being near this youth, and it was a feeling that he was reluctant to part with.

While he was absorbed in his own thoughts, they had both wandered back to the park where the youth was distributing his flyers earlier. He quickly scanned the area and was relieved to find that none of the Poison gang members were around to spot him. He harboured no illusions about the gang's general opinion of him, and the last thing he wanted to do was to give them an excuse to destroy him. He fully understood the risks he was taking by insinuating himself into the gang.

"By the way, my name's Amano Ginji," said the youth chirpily. "All my friends call me Ginji. What's yours?"

Amano Ginji. The name had a familiar ring to it, but he could not quite recall where he had heard it before. "Why do you wanna know?"

The youth-- Amano-- replied seriously, "So that I know what to call you, of course."

His lips curled into a mocking smile. "You may call me Ryuji-sama. Or… what's so funny?" he demanded indignantly, as Amano's shoulders had started shaking with barely contained laughter.

"Ah, forgive me... it's just that you remind me a lot of someone I know," said Amano, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "Ban-chan says the same thing when he's in one of his more conceited moods. Nobody ever calls him the way he wants to be called, not surprisingly, but he never stops trying to get people to do so."

Ryuji noticed how Amano's face lit up upon mentioning this mysterious 'Ban-chan'. Modulating his tone into one of disinterest, he asked, "Who's this guy you keep on talking about? This is the third time today you've brought up his name."

"Who? Ban-chan?" At his nod, Amano continued, "He's my work partner, and also my dearest friend."

Amano's open honesty took him aback. "Friend…" Ryuji felt something squeeze tightly in his chest. For years, he had endured the harsh life on the streets of Shinjuku, where it was a matter of survival to view everyone as an enemy until proven otherwise. He had learnt to discard his laughably naïve ideas of friendship and to regard mutual interest as a stronger bond than mutual trust. To trust was to invite the danger of betrayal, and he was not so foolish as to be burnt by the same flame twice. Yet, he found himself wanting to trust Amano, against all logic. This want-- this need-- of having someone whom he could trust was a sign of weakness, and it filled him with disgust. "Let me give you a piece of good advice, Amano…" he began.

"Call me Ginji."

Ryuji's expression darkened. _All my friends call me Ginji. _"You presume too much, Amano," he said coldly. "Be thankful that I'm not calling you nitwit, numbskull, pea-brain or blockhead instead; even though I'm sorely tempted to do so."

Amano looked suitably chastised. "I won't press the issue then."

"You're entirely too gullible. Do you actually believe that your so-called friend gives a rat's ass about you once you're of no use to him? Friends are merely hypocrites who are bidding their time to stab you in the back. It's best that you learn to expect it, so that you won't be taken by surprise when the knife sinks in."

"That's not true," disagreed Amano. From the way he spoke, Ryuji could tell that he was speaking from strong conviction. "You're only saying that because you've never experienced true friendship. And you'll never experience true friendship if you guard your heart so tightly."

"Don't talk as if you know me," snarled Ryuji. "If you wish to set yourself up to be duped, by all means, go ahead. I wash my hands of you." He got up from the park bench he was sitting on and prepared to leave. He had wasted too much time already. The longer he stayed, the more likely he was of being discovered. If he worked fast enough, he might be able to procure another victim for the initiation rite.

"Is there something you want?" asked Amano suddenly.

The question was a complete _non sequitur_. "What?"

"You came to me because you wanted something, didn't you?"

Evidently, Amano was not as oblivious as he appeared to be. "You're mistaken," he lied.

Amano was watching his face closely. "Do you need help?"

"Wha… What makes you think that I need any help?!" Ryuji countered with a question of his own. He felt the urge to terminate their conversation before Amano could read anything more from his countenance. "And what's with all these questions anyway?" he asked angrily.

"It's just that you kept glancing about ever since we came to the park. Are you in some sort of trouble?" Concern was etched on Amano's features.

Ryuji bridled at the implication that he was too weak to take care of himself. "It's none of your goddamned business!"

Amano smiled sadly at his rebuff. "You're right. Sorry, I didn't mean to be nosy."

Ashamed by his earlier outburst, Ryuji was about to apologize when he caught sight of a figure leaning against a tree thirty feet away. He could recognize that scarred cheek and malevolent smile anywhere. _Shiki_. He groaned inwardly. Of all the gang members who could have been assigned to keep an eye on him, it had to be that snake. Shiki had never forgiven him for marring his pretty face with that scar. Not that Shiki ever needed a reason to make other peoples' lives a living hell…

It was definitely time to leave. "May we never meet again, Amano."

"Wait…"

Ryuji moved quickly and the rest of what Amano was about to say fell out of earshot. He made a beeline for the spot where he had glimpsed Shiki, only to arrive and find that the snake had slithered away and disappeared into the crowd. "Damn it!" Shiki must be making his way to the rest of the gang at the back alley to squeal on him. Ryuji had no choice but to return to confront them all. If he was lucky, they would let him off without too many permanent injuries.

XXXXXX

Ginji sighed as the dark-haired kid disappeared from view. He had wanted to help and Ryuji's eyes had, for the briefest of moments, begged for it; but his offer of aid was rejected in no uncertain terms. He still had no idea what was troubling Ryuji, and it would be disastrous if he plunged headlong into the situation blindly. The two years he had spent working with Ban had taught him a small degree of caution, if nothing else. Ginji slowly walked towards the place where he had placed the sandwich boards and placards. He had a task to do after all, and Ban would not be pleased if he returned from the police station with his Ladybug to find their post deserted.

_But Ryuji might be in grave danger…_As Ginji was deliberating about what to do next, a boy not much older than Ryuji had planted himself in his path. The boy's wavy-brown hair was tied neatly in a pony-tail and his piercing black eyes were observing him from head to toe. There was a horizontal streak of pale scar tissue not far below his left eye, likely caused by a knife cut. "Are you Ryuji's friend?" asked the boy in a lilting voice.

"Not really…" Ginji felt a certain reticence about sharing any information with the shifty-eyed boy before him.

"I've come to ask for your help. Ryuji's in trouble."

XXXXXX

"You're late, Mikaido Ryuji," grated the stern-faced group leader, who was also the most senior Poison gang member present. There were seven other gruff-looking members lurking behind him. "Do you intend to keep us waiting the whole day?"

Ryuji had expected the gang to come at him with flailing fists and flashing knives, hungry for his blood. Instead, he discovered that none of them were aware of his refusal to bring in his victim. He did not see Shiki among the group, so he concluded that Shiki had not revealed his misdemeanor to the gang yet. However, this fact increased rather than lessened his anxiety. Shiki was not one to let such a chance slip past, and he had a gut feeling that whatever plot Shiki was hatching would put him in an even worse position.

Seeing that he had come to the alley alone, the group leader scowled fiercely. "And where is your victim? Have you totally forgotten your duty?"

Ryuji shrugged his shoulders. "I couldn't find anyone suitable. Believe me, I've tried." He tried to sound apologetic, though he knew that it would not make one iota of difference to the group leader's reaction.

There was an audible gritting of teeth. "How dare you make a mockery of these proceedings!"

"I didn't mean any disrespect," Ryuji spoke calmly. "I'm more than happy to go now and pick any Tom, Dick or Harry on the streets, if that is what's required of me. I just thought that it would be more… interesting… if we're more discriminating in our choice of victims."

Ryuji was relieved to see that the group leader was giving his suggestion serious thought. However, his relief was short-lived.

"I don't believe that's necessary." Shiki's lilting voice echoed off the dank surrounding walls. "We have a perfect sacrificial lamb right here."

Ryuji whirled and nearly cursed aloud. Amano was darting a perplexed look at Shiki and then at him, clearly at a loss as to what was happening. _The idiot! The bloody idiot! _He did not have to ask how Amano came to be there. Shiki's self-satisfied smile already gave him the answer.

"Ryu…" said Amano, taking a step towards him.

Ryuji shut Amano up effectively with a sharp toss of his head. The idiot was at least smart enough to stop in his tracks. Ryuji cast a hot glare at Shiki. "I don't need your help in finding my own victims, Shiki."

Shiki appeared immensely pleased with his response. "So, am I right to say that you're refusing to carry out the rite on…" Shiki directed an inquiring look at Amano. "It's Ginji, isn't it?"

For some reason, Shiki's use of Amano's name infuriated Ryuji. Before Amano could reply, Ryuji cut in. "He's too much of an idiot to be a worthy opponent. That's why I didn't choose him. Unlike you, I don't delight in beating up hapless weaklings."

Shiki glared back with as much heat in his eyes as his own. "His being an idiot changes nothing! You're only making up feeble excuses not to fight him!"

"I told you I don't want to fight with idiots! Some of his low I.Q. might rub off on me!"

Amano's face took on a pained expression but he mercifully kept quiet throughout the exchange.

"Stop this bickering! Both of you!" commanded the group leader, a trace of annoyance in his voice. He directed his next words at Ryuji. "Idiot or not. Worthy or not. He's your opponent today. As the candidate, you're responsible for drawing blood first."

Ryuji clenched his fists and resisted the strong desire to wipe off the triumphant smile on Shiki's face. Ryuji met Amano's hazel eyes briefly and drew out his switchblade with deliberate slowness. Without warning, he charged, his knife slicing an arc in the space near Amano's head. Amano leapt back to avoid the blow and Ryuji pursued, all the while drawing the fight further away from the gang. Amano did not appear afraid, merely surprised and confused, and Ryuji suspected that the youth had been in more dangerous battles in the past. Confident that Amano would be able to block his attack, Ryuji closed the distance between them and stabbed out without holding back. Amano brought up his right hand and halted the knife's advance with the metal plate lining his glove.

Angling his body so that his back was facing the gang, Ryuji leaned closer towards Amano and whispered harshly, "Leave now if you value your life. I'll create an opportunity for you to escape."

The confusion in Amano's eyes was replaced by understanding. "What will happen to you?" he asked softly.

How is it possible for the idiot to be thinking of other people when his own life is in danger? Ryuji wanted to snarl in frustration. "Just leave-"

"Get down!" Ryuji was pulled out of the path of a knife that was hurtling towards his back. Electrical energy crackled at the tips of Amano's fingers and the trajectory of the knife was deflected to pass harmlessly above his head.

Ryuji gaped at Amano's display of power in disbelief, his jaw slack. _That is not humanly possible._ He noted with amusement that Shiki, who had thrown the knife, was doing the same thing.

Amano's face had taken on a mask of cold rage. "Why did you do that? Isn't Ryuji one of your companions?" Ryuji then realized what were the buttons in Amano that could be pushed to make him angry.

Shiki recovered his composure with difficulty and declared loudly, "So, I've guessed correctly! The two of you are in cahoots." He retreated to the relative safety of where the other gang members were gathered. "Boss," Shiki addressed the group leader. "Shouldn't we teach this traitor a lesson? All this while he had been pretending…"

"Raitei…" breathed the group leader, staring in awe and fear at Amano. This was soon followed by panic-stricken cries from the rest of the gang.

"The Thunder Emperor of Mugenjou!"

"The Demon of the Infinite Fortress!"

"The Bane of everything that lived!"

Ryuji was shocked by the revelation as well. Amano did not fit the profile of Raitei at all, who had a reputation of levelling buildings and electrocuting enemies instantaneously with his gift of manipulating electricity to do his bidding.

"Are you alright?" Amano had knelt down in front of him and was extending a hand to help him get up from the ground. Ryuji shook off his trepidation and clasped Amano's gloved hand fearlessly. He did not care what the legends say about Amano, or Raitei, or whether the two of them were even the same person. "I'm sorry for getting you into trouble," apologized Amano. "I shouldn't have come, should I?"

Amano sounded so contrite that Ryuji relented. "It's not your fault. Shiki tricked you, didn't he?"

"No." At his quizzical look, Amano explained further. "I came even though I knew that he was deceiving me. He claimed to be your friend; and that, I could tell, was a blatant lie."

"Then why did you still come?" asked Ryuji, already knowing what his answer would be.

"Because I'm worried about you."

The words were simple but they penetrated deeply into Ryuji's heart. He swallowed the lump of emotion stuck in his throat.

By the time they stood up, the initial terror that had gripped Shiki and the gang members had died down. The group leader's eyes, which held only fear a moment ago, now held resolution. It was strength, and not merely seniority, that determined the ranks within the gang, and the group leader was not an ordinary ruffian who would cower before an enemy. "You may leave here if you wish, Raitei. None of us are keen to fight against you. But Mikaido Ryuji will have to remain here. He's one of us, or going to be one, and he knows too much already."

"That's up to Ryuji to decide," said Amano defiantly. "Not you."

Ryuji was torn between seeking the refuge of Amano's protection and attempting another go at infiltrating the Poison gang. He had reasons of his own for wanting to become part of the gang, and he had worked so hard to get to this point. "Amano…"

Amano seemed to be able to detect his predicament. "Ryuji, you don't have to stay if you don't want to. I'm here to help you if you need it. You don't have to join this gang."

Ryuji nodded quietly, the last of his doubts washed away.

The group leader made a hand signal and the other gang members, including Shiki, began to draw out identical sheathed daggers. Ryuji's blood ran cold when he saw the inlaid brass serpents on the hilts. "Be careful, Amano," he warned. "The blades of those daggers are laced with poison. Even the smallest cut can be lethal." Ryuji barely had time to give out the warning before all nine members of the gang descended upon them.

Ryuji's memory of what happened in the next few seconds was a blur to him. He recalled trying to fend off Shiki's dagger with his knife whilst intermittent bursts of electricity sent the others flying across the air or convulsing on the floor. He thought he heard Amano calling his name, but he was concentrating too hard on his knife fight with Shiki to pay any attention. Shiki abruptly stopped pressing his attack and stepped back.

And before he knew it, Amano was beside him, shielding him from an incoming dagger that would have sunk into his neck. It dawned on Ryuji that the dagger was never meant for him, but Amano instead. Whoever had thrown it had calculated on Amano receiving the blow on his behalf. Without pausing, Amano sent a bolt streaking towards the group leader, apparently the one who had flung the dagger, and felled him. The sight of the dagger protruding from Amano's right forearm paralyzed Ryuji. "Amano!" he cried, grief threatening to overwhelm him.

Amano gave him a wan smile. "It's a pity that the blade isn't magnetic." His breathing became increasingly laboured. Grimacing, Amano extracted the dagger from his flesh and dropped it onto the ground with a clatter. Bright-red blood flowed from the wound in a steady rivulet.

Only Shiki and two other members remained standing. "You fool! You won't be able to move in thirty seconds once the neurotoxin gets into your system." Shiki laughed with satisfaction. "Once I defeat the invincible Raitei, no one will ever look down on me again!"

"Thirty seconds is enough," stated Amano with icy calm as he clutched his left wrist with his right hand, completing the circle. The blast of raw energy that erupted forth from Amano's palm nearly blinded Ryuji. When his vision returned and the dust settled, Ryuji saw only twitching and scorched bodies all over the alley. He doubted that anyone could have evaded or withstood Amano's final attack. "Damn… I couldn't control…" Amano panted heavily, his expression sorrowful. "… Hope… no one's hurt too badly…"

Ryuji rushed forward to support Amano as he sagged down onto his knees. Tears were rolling down his cheeks uncontrollably. "Why?" Ryuji choked. "You hardly know me. Why should you… Why did you…?"

Amano's arms hung limply at his sides. "But I do know you," he said with a smile. Amano was breathing more normally now, but his face was still too pale. "You are the boy who helped to retrieve my flyers; who likes pistachio ice-cream; who is willing to risk your life for a stranger whom you've just met; and who… is lonely."

Ryuji bowed his head, too anguished to speak. He was unaware that someone else had approached them until it was too late. Ryuji yelped in surprise as he was abruptly lifted by the scruff of his neck and tossed backwards to crash into a garbage can. However, he was back on his feet quickly; ready to gut his assailant with the knife in his hand.

A young man, with long, black locks that stood out like porcupine quills, was cradling Amano's still form. Ryuji had not seen this Poison gang member before; but whoever the punk was, he would not stand by idly and watch Amano come to any further harm. He was about to launch an attack when he heard Porcupine-head exclaim disgustedly, "For crying out loud, Ginji! What have you gotten yourself into this time?"

"Ban-chan!" greeted Amano happily.

Ryuji froze in mid-spring. _Ban-chan?_

"Don't you 'Ban-chan' me, you baka! If you aren't injured right now, I'd really knuckle your head in. Can't I even turn my back on you for a second, you oversized toddler?" Porcupine-head was examining Amano's wound worriedly even as he was delivering one scathing remark after another.

Amano did not seem to mind his verbal abuse. "How did you find me?"

"The way I always do, baka," growled Porcupine-head. "And the fact that this area was lighting up like a fireworks display helped somewhat. What have I told you about keeping that power of yours under strict control?"

"I couldn't help it," said Amano. "I think the poison might have disrupted the flow of my electrical impulses or something."

"Poi…" Porcupine-head was horrified. "What?! You're poisoned?! Why didn't you tell me earlier, you moron! How did it happen?"

Ryuji, who was feeling completely ignored up to this point, decided to speak up. "Amano was pierced by a dagger that was tainted with snake venom. He was hurt trying to protect me."

Porcupine-head shot him a smouldering look above his sunglasses. "Figures. I didn't think that Ginji would have lost to a couple of common thugs otherwise."

Ryuji bit his lip, unable to utter a single word to defend himself.

"Ban-chan! It's not Ryuji's fault that I was careless…" protested Amano.

"Don't get me started on you!" fumed Porcupine-head, redirecting his anger at Amano. "We're not running a charity organization here! The next time you feel like trotting off to do your Good Samaritan thingy, don't forget to negotiate the fee first. Now shut up and let me see to that arm."

Ryuji braced himself when Porcupine-head turned to face him.

"Give me your belt," said Porcupine-head in a tone that expected to be obeyed immediately.

Ryuji was dumbfounded by the unusual request. "Huh?"

"Just give it to me, you twerp! We don't have time to waste here!"

Ryuji finally understood when he saw Porcupine-head tying the belt tightly around Amano's upper arm to serve as a tourniquet.

"Brat, go and pick up the dagger that was used on Ginji just now. We might need it later to make some anti-venom."

Ryuji followed Porcupine-head's orders without thinking. He was impressed by the intelligent mind that lay beneath Porcupine-head's churlish exterior.

"Shouldn't we suck the poison out?" asked Ryuji. When Porcupine-head did not even deign to answer him, he flushed. "I saw it done on TV before."

"Don't believe everything you see on TV, kid. I don't particularly want to risk absorbing the venom though my mouth. Do you?"

"If it'll help Amano's condition, I'll do it," said Ryuji determinedly.

Porcupine-head said nothing as he hoisted Amano onto his back, allowing Amano's arms to drape over his shoulders. "Well, it won't help. The best thing to do now is to get some anti-venom into this idiot here before his diaphragm decides to stop working."

"I'm sorry for troubling you again, Ban-chan," said Amano meekly.

Porcupine-head sighed. "I'm more concerned about how we're going to get enough money to pay Himiko. I don't even want to think about how much that vixen would charge us for the antidote."

Ryuji watched the camaraderie between the two retrieval agents with a touch of envy in his eyes. He did not realize that he was staring until Porcupine-head snapped waspishly, "What're you looking at? Is there something on my face?"

"Ah…nothing," said Ryuji, flustered. "It's just that you're not how I've pictured Ban-chan to be."

There was a period of awkward silence, like the deadly calm before a storm. And then… "YEOW!" Pain blossomed on the top of Ryuji's skull. Porcupine-head had struck out so fast that he failed to see how the thwacking had occurred. Ryuji glared furiously at his haughty tormentor.

"That's Mido Ban-sama to you, brat."

"Don't be mean, Ban-chan!" reprimanded Amano from behind.

"What? You're taking this brat's side now?"

Not one to acquiesce defeat without a fight, Ryuji shouted, "Ginji!"

Ginji's hazel eyes widened in surprise upon hearing his first name being called. Only the two of them knew the significance of such an act to him. Ginji beamed. "Ryuji."

"I would like it if you'd call me Ryu-chan instead," said Ryuji sincerely.

The expression on Porcupine-head's face was priceless.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Author's note:** The title of this story doesn't make sense yet, because it was my original intention to write a longer story than this. Whether there will be any more chapters will depend on how much inspiration I get. Writing is tough work. Perhaps I should just content myself with reading other people's stories instead :P


	2. Broken Contract

(Standard disclaimers apply)

**The Wake**

_2. Broken contract_

The rare silence in Honky Tonk was shattered by the ringing phone. Wan Paul was in the process of picking it up when he was roughly shouldered aside and the handset wrested from his grasp.

"Ginji! Where the flying frag are you!" yelled an incensed Ban into the mouthpiece. "I've been waiting for your call for over an hour already and…you're not Ginji? Then why the flying frag did you call this number! Get off the line this instant!" Cups and saucers rattled noisily on the counter as the handset was slammed into its cradle. Not for the first time, Ban deeply regretted his previous loss of temper which had pulverized their only cell phone.

Paul winced, but was relieved to see that the phone was still in usable condition. Ban often had difficulty keeping his strength in check when he was agitated; and 'agitated' was too weak a word to describe his current state. Paul puffed out a hazy cloud of cigarette smoke as he sighed. "Look, contrary to popular belief, I do serve other customers in my café. The paying kind. I'd appreciate it if you'll let me handle the next call."

Ban tried to stare the café-owner down, but the contest was lost before it had even begun. It was nigh impossible for his heated gaze to penetrate those near-opaque shades. "I honestly don't give two tugs of a dead dog's..."

"Your vulgarities usually don't bother me," interrupted Paul before Ban could finish his sentence. "However, I would advise you to refrain from doing so in front of Natsumi."

Drawn into the conversation unawares, Natsumi nearly dropped the tumbler she was wiping with a tea towel. She glanced at Ban concernedly. "I'm sure Ginji will be alright, Ban. You of all people should know how capable he is, right?" Natsumi, with the worm of worry gnawing at her own guts, sounded like she was seeking reassurance instead of giving it.

Ban was about to chew a thumbnail in apprehension but decided against it, as it would only increase Natsumi's unease. "Normally, yes. But the dolt has only just recovered from that recent poisoning episode, and I didn't realize that there are still some lingering effects. Until today." Seeing the impact his words had on Natsumi, Ban hurriedly tried to inject some optimism into her. "It's nothing serious, really. He could move around fine. It's just that his channeling of electricity is a bit erratic. The few goons he had to take out today nearly went into cardiac arrest when all he intended to do was stun them. He still has his power, unlike the last time, so you don't have to worry about him."

Unconvinced, Natsumi still looked worried. "But… Ginji, knowing that he can't control his power, would choose not to use it, wouldn't he? Even to defend himself?"

It was Ban's turn to look worried. Yes, the idiot was definitely capable of placing someone else's survival before his own- a behaviour that went against the grain of everything Ban had been taught since childhood. It was a wonder how Ginji managed to survive all those years in the demons' nest that was Mugenjou. Oh yes, Raitei and the Four Kings_. Fools are protected by more capable fools._ "Ginji might not use it for himself, but he's not alone this time." Ban's mouth twisted in a grimace, as if he was touching on a topic that he would normally avoid like the plague. "Perhaps that pain-in-the-ass brat isn't totally useless after all."

"Brat?" Natsumi waited for more information but none was forthcoming from the suddenly tight-lipped Ban. She looked questioningly at Paul.

Paul interpreted her look. "He's a stray Ginji picked up two weeks ago. One that got along with Ban like oil and water."

"More like fire and trinitrotoluene," muttered Ban under his breath, unconsciously clenching his hands into fists.

"Ah," said Natsumi with a knowing smile. "But why haven't I seen him around here before?"

"He's an unusually shy or, should I say, distrustful kid," said Paul, stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray. "He ventured into my café once in Ginji's company. After I offered him a free cup of coffee, he left it untouched and hadn't come back since."

Natsumi looked thoughtful for a moment; almost as if she was feeling for the kid she had never met. "What's his name?" she asked.

"Ginji calls him Ryu..."

"Yeesh!" Ban hissed through gritted teeth. "Quit talking about that brat already! You're disturbing the customers!"

"Customers?" echoed Natsumi. There was no one else in the café aside from the three of them.

"**Me**," said Ban, stressing the word to make it sound important. "What's more, I'm a regular."

Sensing that Ban was in one of his foulest moods and not wanting to aggravate him further, both employer and employee decided to drop the subject. It was not wise to annoy Ban without Ginji in close proximity for him to vent his frustration on. Not that Ban would actually hurt any of them, but the same could not be guaranteed for all things breakable within an arm's radius of him. Unfortunately, even the walls were under the 'breakable' category.

Choosing a seemingly innocuous topic, Paul asked, "Just out of curiosity, what did you mean by the term 'flying frag'?"

Ban's expression could almost be described as embarrassed, if he didn't also look as if he was ready to bite off a chunk of wood. "It has no meaning. I made that one up myself."

Paul arched an eyebrow. "And you couldn't come up with something better than 'flying frag'?"

"Get off my back, will ya?" grumbled Ban ill-humouredly. "I wasn't thinking straight just now, thanks to that…"

At that moment, the phone rang again. Paul warded Ban off with a warning hand and reached for the handset. "Hello, Honky Tonk café. This is Paul speaking." A flicker of amusement crossed Paul's face before he handed the phone to Ban who was waiting impatiently across the counter. "I believe it's for you." Ban snatched the phone and drew full breath into his lungs to bellow at the person at the other end of the line. Before Ban could unleash his wrath, a non-Ginji voice came through the receiver. "Porcupine-head!" 

It took all of Ban's self-control not to throttle the phone he was holding; while imagining his hands to be wrapped around one particular scrawny neck.

XXXXXX

Ryuji derived immense satisfaction from hanging up on the loud, uncouth Get Backer in the middle of his ranting. He breathed more easily as he did so. Merely _talking_ to that barbarian could be such an exhausting task. To give Porcupine-head his due, the bastard was at least sensible enough to listen to what he had to say before attempting to deafen his ears with all that shouting.

Ryuji's expression turned grim as he left the phone booth. The earlier events of the day replayed in his mind like a reprimand. Once again, he had landed Ginji in danger and was proven to be useless when it came to providing aid during combat. What was even more unforgivable was that Ginji was injured _again_ because of him. Ryuji wanted to thump the wall of the building he was limping past. The only thing that curbed his violent impulse was the thought of upsetting Ginji further. He had no doubts that Ginji would fuss and fret over him if he turned up with a lacerated hand; and forget about his own bullet wounds (only minor grazes, thank god) and near-disembowelment.

If only he had kept his mouth shut and allowed the transaction to proceed smoothly. So what if their client was committing a crime? So what if the Get Backers had unwittingly helped an unscrupulous man carry out his schemes? The client was willing enough to fork out the money for the so-called 'retrieval', so why shouldn't Ginji just take the payment and leave?

Ryuji mentally berated himself for being such a fool. He had known that Ginji was in no condition to fight properly. The wise decision would have been to act dumb and confront their client another day, with Porcupine-head around as back up should things get nasty. The idiotic decision, which was the one he had forced upon Ginji, was to voice doubts about the legitimacy of the retrieval and get the client panicked enough to demand their permanent silence. To make matters worse, the client had come with his very own sword-wielding assassin and team of gun-totting henchmen; especially hired to handle contingencies like nosy retrieval agents who suspected too much of the truth for comfort.

He would never have survived what followed if it wasn't for Ginji's astonishingly quick thinking and action. His blond friend might be slow in figuring out why they were being shot at, but there was nothing slow in the way he dodged the flying bullets, blinded their enemies temporarily with the flash of lightning, and secured their escape route by blasting open the sealed exit of the warehouse they were in. Unfortunately, their escape was not without its obstacles. Just when they thought they had shaken off their murderous pursuers, the assassin appeared out of seemingly nowhere and would have cleaved him in two if Ginji had been a second late in shoving him out of harm's way.

A short but fierce battle soon ensued between Ginji and the assassin. Ryuji knew better than to get involved in the clash between the two combatants; both of whom were clearly in a league of their own. It was all he could do to follow their movements with his eyes. It became painfully obvious to Ryuji that Ginji was holding back; choosing to be on the defensive when he could have easily ended the fight with a few well-timed electrical jolts. To Ryuji's dismay, Ginji began to show signs of fatigue, his movements slowing down and his body gradually incurring more damage from the slashing sword. Hunger and the massive discharge of electricity before were finally taking their toll on Ginji. Allowing the battle to drag on would only disadvantage Ginji further. As soon as Ryuji realized this, he took a gamble and hurled himself into the fight, fervently hoping that he had read the situation correctly. Ryuji had to squash his survival instincts as he placed himself in the position of imminent impalement, where rescue was possible only if Ginji hardened his heart enough to zap the assassin senseless first. Ginji did not even have the time to hesitate.

Ryuji lived. The assassin nearly did not.

'Nearly', because Ginji was unwilling to leave without trying to revive the assassin who had, just moments ago, tried his darnedest to chop him into bits. Ginji's altruism defied all common sense and logic sometimes. It was a miracle that someone like Ginji hadn't become extinct centuries ago. Sure enough, the moment the assassin woke up, he…

The ruminations stopped when Ryuji turned around the corner and saw Ginji huddled in the doorway of a closed shop. A closer inspection revealed that Ginji was fast asleep and Ryuji was reluctant to disrupt his much needed rest. He might as well settle comfortably next to Ginji and wait for Porcupine-head to show up with his puny Subaru-360. That had been the whole point of that unpleasant phone call Ryuji had forced himself to make; which was to get Ginji transported to a place of safety as he was clearly in no state to walk all the way back to Honky Tonk.

"Salmon…"

The soft, bubbling voice caused Ryuji to turn his head towards the sleeping youth beside him in fascination.

"…sashimi… tuna temaki… ebi tempura… idako…" Ginji droned on, drooling visibly from his half-open mouth.

Ryuji began to sidle away to avoid the saliva that was dribbling perilously close to his shoulder. He did so quietly, so as not to wake Ginji up. However, fleeing was no longer an option when his left hand was suddenly seized between Ginji's jaws. It took a few seconds for Ryuji to realize, to his well-justified horror, that Ginji was _masticating_ his fingers, as if readying them for digestion.

While Ryuji was contemplating what to do, Ginji frowned and mumbled "Tentacles too chewy" before biting down even harder. Instinctively, Ryuji raised a fist to bat Ginji away (as he had seen Porcupine-head do several times) but managed to stop himself just before the punch connected. He absolutely refused to follow Porcupine-head's example in ill-treating Ginji, who deserved more respect than that.

So instead, Ryuji extended his free arm and nudged Ginji gently, albeit very insistently. Ginji's eyelids fluttered briefly before they drew back to reveal slightly glazed-over eyes. "Rrrheuf-chaum?" mumbled Ginji sleepily over a mouthful of fingers.

Ryuji recognized Ginji's garbled words to be his name. "Yes, it's me. Ryu-chan." He refrained from screaming 'Argh! My hand is becoming numb! Get away! Get away!' and waited expectantly to be released.

Full wakefulness came upon Ginji and he hurriedly spat out Ryuji's tooth-marked hand. "Gack! I'm really sorry! I didn't mean to… um… I didn't hurt you too much, did I?"

Ryuji tried not to think about the amount of bacteria that was currently colonizing Ginji's teeth. He had been in enough fights to know the high risk of infection associated with teeth wounds on knuckles and other finger joints. He put on a brave front for Ginji's benefit. "Nope. Hardly felt a thing."

Ginji surveyed their surroundings. "This place…?"

"You don't remember?" said Ryuji. "We fled to this spot shortly after our encounter with the assassin. It's a suburb near the north-eastern boundary of the Shinjuku district, if I'm not mistaken."

Ginji blinked owlishly at him. "Assassin…?"

"The one whom you wouldn't leave well enough alone." Exasperation was creeping into Ryuji's voice. "The one who nearly sliced your belly open in exchange for saving his life, remember?"

"Oh, him," said Ginji nonchalantly. Ryuji had seen Ginji showing more emotion over a platter of sushi that had gone mouldy. "Was he alright when we left him? I can't seem to recall what happened after that very well."

"He's fine," answered Ryuji quickly. "Alive, at any rate. You sort of, uh, sparked when he startled you; so he was rendered unconscious again." _And I've added two hard knocks to his head to make sure he stayed that way._ Ryuji was not a vindictive person by nature. He would never have sunk so low as to hit a helpless opponent if he had not been so provoked. Somehow, after merely two weeks of acquaintance, 'being provoked' involved Ginji being harmed in any way.

"If you say so," said Ginji uncertainly. "How about you? Were you...?"

"Injured?" Ryuji waved a hand dismissively. "Hell, no. My reflexes aren't that slow."

"I'm relieved to hear that. I would never forgive myself if you were..." Ginji cleared his throat. "I was the one who persuaded Ban-chan to let you join us on our retrieval missions after all."

Ryuji frowned in annoyance. "You don't have to feel responsible for me. I'm the one who insisted on tagging along with you guys."

"Even so, you wouldn't have been in such danger if it wasn't for me." Ginji's expression grew weary, almost sad. "I've made a mess of things again, haven't I? I can't seem to do anything right nowadays. Not the retrieval of that antique vase this evening. Not even the simple task of collecting payment after that. No wonder Ban-chan sent me away and handled those security guards on his own. He knew I'd only get in the way…"

Ryuji could not stand listening to Ginji's self-reproach any longer. "Stop that!"

His vehemence surprised Ginji. Mistaking the reason for it, Ginji asked, "Are you still mad at me for chewing your hand just now?"

"It has nothing to do with my...!" Ryuji tried to quell the unexplainable anger he was feeling. It was irrational of him to be angry with Ginji. If anyone deserved his anger, it was himself. "I… I just don't want to hear any more criticism about you. Not even from you."

Ginji's face was the very picture of incomprehension. "You're mad at me because…?"

"Because you're being silly! It's not your fault that the deal today went to hell, okay? It's mine! Stop trying to take the blame for my mistakes! It only makes me feel worse." Ryuji lowered his head. "Much worse."

There was a delicate pause before Ginji responded, "It isn't your fault either, Ryu-chan."

"It is," insisted Ryuji stubbornly. "So stop trying to convince me otherwise."

A companionable pat on his shoulder caused Ryuji to look up and confront Ginji's soulful eyes. "I'll stop then, if it makes you feel better."

Ryuji found his anger dissipating in spite of himself. _How does he do it?_ Ryuji felt like a child when he was around Ginji; which was odd, considering that Ginji was the one who behaved almost child-like most of the time. Or perhaps it was precisely because of that.

"You really shouldn't feel too bad over this, you know," said Ginji. "This isn't the first time a client has turned on us. We're quite used to this sort of thing already. The way I see it, killing us has the double advantages of not having to pay our service fee and not having to worry that we'll leak out information regarding the retrieval. Sometimes, the temptation is too great. Elimination is an occupational hazard for retrieval specialists like us."

Ryuji resented it every time Ginji used the pronoun 'we' in his conversations, as it always included Porcupine-head instead. "How can you say that so calmly?" demanded Ryuji gruffly. "If I were you, I'd have quit this horrid job a long time ago. The job isn't even rewarding enough to cover the cost of your basic necessities."

Ginji smiled, as if recalling some pleasant memory. "Rewards can come in many forms. It's not about the money. It has never been about the money."

"Ha!" Ryuji's tone was thick with skepticism. "As if! Your partner certainly doesn't share your view in that. I've never met anyone as shamelessly money-grubbing as him in my life. He'd sell his soul to the devil for a quick buck. Come to think it, who's to say he… hadn't… already…" Ryuji's voice faded into silence when he saw Ginji's expression. It was not exactly a cold look. No, expecting cold looks from Ginji was like expecting the sun to churn out icebergs. However, what Ryuji saw on Ginji's face then was distinctly… cooler.

"If you don't know him, don't judge him," said Ginji defensively. "Ban-chan cares more than he shows; and because of that, he's easily misunderstood."

Ryuji's cheeks burned at the rebuke. "Why?"

"Huh?"

"Why would you wish to work with some-" Ryuji swallowed a string of profanities he had in mind. "-one like him?"

Ginji leaned against the glass doors at the shop entrance. He looked tired; drained of his usual vitality. "To become stronger."

"Stronger?" Ryuji was incredulous. "I thought you've never been defeated as the Thunder Emperor…"

"It's not only physical strength I'm referring to; though, in that aspect, Ban-chan's is certainly greater than mine." There was no trace of bitterness in Ginji's voice as he made this startling statement. "More importantly, I wanted to become strong enough to break free from a life of constant bloody conflict and mindless violence. From a path where the lives of others were both saved and destroyed because of me. It was a burden I couldn't bear any longer."

Ryuji could sense that Ginji was reluctant to discuss the subject further. A few seconds of reflective silence passed before Ryuji spoke again. "I still don't understand."

"What do you mean?"

"It makes no sense for you to choose to stay beside Porcu- I mean, Mido Ban- if your wish is to become stronger. Doesn't it make you weaker if you hang about someone who is stronger than you? You'll come to rely on his strength instead of building up your own." That was the main reason why Ryuji had chosen to remain solo as he eked out his existence on the streets. He had turned down opportunities to affiliate with various street gangs, even though doing so would undoubtedly make his life much easier. It was most ironic that the moment he intended to join a particular gang, its members had made it so difficult for him.

"I've never thought of it that way before," admitted Ginji. "But…"

"But?"

"Ban-chan said that there are limits to what a single person can achieve. Two people working together make a more formidable force than one person working alone."

Ryuji snorted. "You believe everything he tells you, don't you?"

Ginji regarded him with serious eyes. "I have no reason to doubt him."

"If you trust another person so blindly, you'll come to regret it one day. It's only a matter of time before that trust is betrayed."

"Even if such a thing come to pass, I will continue to believe in him," declared Ginji. His tone softened. "But we're no longer talking about me, are we?"

Ryuji's head swiveled towards Ginji abruptly. It was disconcerting how that deceptively simple mind could make such accurate observations based on what had not been said.

The sound of a car pulling up by the curb curtailed their conversation. The appearance of Porcupine-head was usually the cause of much dread, but this time, Ryuji was grateful for the distraction it provided. All that heart-to-heart talk was fine as long as the subject matter did not include himself. As much as he trusted Ginji, he still considered his past as a territory to be well guarded against trespassers.

Joy suffused Ginji's features the moment he recognized the person behind the steering wheel. "Ban-chan!" called out Ginji as he bounced enthusiastically towards Porcupine-head who was just getting out of his car.

Ignoring the twinge of envy brought on by the scene, Ryuji curiously noted that Ginji had whipped out two folding fans from his pockets. He never found out what Ginji intended to do with those fans, for Porcupine-head's immediate reaction to Ginji's welcome was a downward kick that flattened Ginji's face against the cement pavement. Ryuji watched on with mounting shock and fury as Porcupine-head proceeded to grind his heel on the back of Ginji's head in small circular movements.

Porcupine-head mimicked Ginji's chirpy voice. "'I've fully recovered Ban-chan. Don't worry about me, Ban-chan. I'm ready to take on one of Hevn-san's assignments, Ban-chan.'" Veins stood out in his neck like bicycle brake cables. "When did you learn to lie so convincingly?"

Ginji could only reply with unintelligible muffled squeaks.

"Get your filthy foot off him," said Ryuji hoarsely, his voice tight with anger.

Porcupine-head's cobalt blue eyes glinted ominously. "What did you just say, twerp?" The question was uttered like a death sentence.

"I said… Get your filthy foot off!" snarled Ryuji, refusing to be intimidated. "Before I cut... id... obb...!" Ryuji's subsequent words became as unintelligible as Ginji's when he suddenly found himself sharing Ginji's fate. It felt as if a tonne of bricks had suddenly landed on his head.

"Don't think I've forgotten about our last phone conversation, brat. Hang up on me, will ya?" Porcupine-head punctuated each sentence with a forceful twist of his heel. "It's high time you learn how to respect your betters."

Ryuji had to forgo a retort in order to focus on breathing. He soon discovered that he couldn't breathe.

Ginji must have detected that he was suffocating, for he sounded alarmed when he cried out, "Ban-chan! Ryu-chan was just trying to..."

The pressure pinning Ryuji's head to the ground eased when Porcupine-head whirled on his partner instead. "Speaking of phone calls, why the hell did you send this brat to make that call! Didn't I specifically tell you to call me right after your meeting with the client? What's with the delay? And why..."

"Phone call?" said Ginji. Under Porcupine-head's baleful glare, Ginji's look of innocent blankness transformed into one of nervous abashment. "Oh, I just remembered… I was supposed to call you, wasn't I?"

While Porcupine-head was busy driving his knuckles into Ginji's temples, Ryuji took the opportunity to spit out dirt and wipe his face on a sleeve. Tantalizing images of Porcupine-head being diced and roasted over a small fire swam in his mind as he did so. Oh yes, that scummy punk with the freak hairdo had better watch out one of these days, especially whilst walking alone in dark alleys when he is eighty years old with a bad back, wasted muscles and arthritic knees.

However, Ryuji's fantasies of revenge felt hollow. Deep down, he knew that he would never do anything to hurt Ginji if he could help it. Ryuji may possess many qualities he was not proud of, but ingratitude was not one of them. He owed Ginji another one. He was not sure whether Ginji had truly forgotten about Porcupine-head's instructions or that his friend was cleverly diverting Porcupine-head's attention in order to buy him this brief period of reprieve. With Ginji, he could never be sure. Ginji's exaggerated silliness made him think 'No one can be _that_ obtuse and immature'. That, and the fact that Ginji used to be the leader of the Volts- the renowned gang which had attempted to create order in the chaotic battlegrounds of Mugenjou. Ryuji had heard enough rumours of Mugenjou to know that merely staying alive in that place was no mean feat.

"…And **this**," added Porcupine-head, effecting another yelp of pain from Ginji. "…is for making others worried sick about you, baka!" He paused. "Have I missed out anything so far?"

Ginji, in what appeared to be an attempt in suicide, replied truthfully, "I… I also failed to get the payment for our retrieval today, Ban-chan. I'm sorry."

Ryuji nearly covered his eyes in fear of what was soon to become of Ginji. Words like 'unrecognizable bloody pulp' came to mind. To his surprise, Porcupine-head ceased his torment of Ginji and, instead, began to look at Ginji carefully for the first time since his arrival.

"Our client Mr. Wazuki is another one of those bad-debtor types, eh? So what's the reason this time?" As Ginji opened his mouth to answer, Porcupine-head interrupted. "No, forget it. That's not so important. What's important is how you got this wide slit in your shirt…" Porcupine-head flipped up the aforementioned shirt. "… and this ugly gash right below your rib cage. It looks like a sword slash to me. Don't tell me it's..."

Ginji shook his head vigorously. "Uh-Uh. It wasn't Dr. Jackal."

Porcupine-head's eyes narrowed. "Miroku?"

"Not him… er… them either," said Ginji. "It was someone I've never met before. Someone with very sad eyes. I couldn't detect any malice in his attacks; only a cold air of professionalism."

Porcupine-head slapped a hand against his forehead and groaned. "Argh, say no more. Let me guess... you let yourself get cut up because you felt, of all friggin' things, _compassion_ for your would-be killer?"

"Uh…"

This response earned Ginji a thwack on the head. "That's why you always get beaten up so easily, you idiot! Just because you heal fast doesn't mean you can afford to put yourself through the grinder in every fight for your opponent's sake!"

"But it's only a flesh wound. It'll be gone the moment I recharge..."

There was another loud thwack. Ryuji winced in sympathy.

"You still bleed and you still feel pain," snapped Porcupine-head. "So stop talking as if you're a piece of machinery!"

"Yes, Ban-chan." Ginji smiled disarmingly and bear-hugged his partner. "And thank you for being worried sick about me."

Porcupine-head tried to maintain his irritated scowl but failed miserably. His expression became almost tender as he ruffled the ex-Thunder Emperor's golden spikes. No wonder he had pre-empted Ginji's rush towards him earlier with sudden physical violence. Porcupine-head must have known that all his accumulated anger would not stand a chance of surviving once the bear hug is in place. "It's not me, you flaming fool. Natsumi is the one who has gone so far as to work overtime just to await your safe return. There's food waiting for you on the counter back at Honky Tonk."

Watching from a distance, Ryuji got the strong feeling that he would never be able to share in what the two retrieval specialists had between them. A past, which he would never be privy to, and a future, which he doubted he would ever be a part of. As for the present… No. To impose himself like a parasite on that bond would be despicable. Not to mention pitiful.

Engrossed in his brooding, Ryuji did not even notice that Porcupine-head and Ginji had both settled in the front seats of the Subaru already. The screech of tyres on the road jerked Ryuji out of his moody thoughts. Porcupine-head's intention to leave him behind was obvious; and Ginji's firm grip on the hand brakes was the sole reason they had not sped off yet.

"Ryu-chan! What are you standing there for? Get in the car! Natsumi has prepared sandwiches for us! Sandwiches!"

You'd think that a sandwich was some kind of a rare and exotic delicacy; the way Ginji went on about it. Ryuji took a step backwards. "You go ahead without me. I'm fine here by myself."

He might as well have saved his breath, for Ginji got out and bundled him into the car despite his explicit protests. Ryuji had to bite back a howl as his right calf was knocked against the backseat during the tumble. When they were well on their way to Honky Tonk, Ryuji grouched, "Geez, you can't take 'no' for an answer, can you?"

"That's because the rest of your body is saying 'yes'," said Ginji sagely.

"The rest of my body?" Ryuji was mortified when his treacherous stomach chose that moment to rumble like thunder. Blushing to roots of his hair, Ryuji pretended that nothing had happened. "Now just what do you mean by that?"

Ginji was kind enough not to embarrass him any further, merely stating, "You'll love Natsumi's chicken and cucumber sandwiches."

XXXXXX

Alerted by the bell chime, Natsumi turned towards the door and was relieved by the sight that greeted her. The sight of that sunny grin instantly melted away all the fears she had been harbouring the whole night.

"Natsumi-chan!" Ginji made a beeline for her. He gazed at her happily flushed face for a full two seconds before his gaze was drawn to the sandwiches that were laid out on the counter between them.

_Oh well, two seconds ain't too bad. I'll take what I can get._ Pouring coffee into the mug beside Ginji's plate, Natsumi said, "Master left a while ago, so it'll just be me for the night. I've whipped these up from whatever I could find in the pantry- cold meats and stuff. I hope you find the taste satisfactory."

Ginji was actually leaking tears as he munched away at one of the sandwiches. He ate the sandwich slowly, savouring every breadcrumb and sliver of meat. "Ah, heavenly. Absolutely heavenly."

Ban appeared beside Ginji and watched his colleague in disgust. "I really wish you'll stop behaving like we're so pathetic and poor. You're giving the Get… Backers... a… bad… name." Ban had to pause between words to gobble down mouthfuls of chewed sandwiches. His hand was a blur as he popped one sandwich after another into his mouth, its speed limited only by how fast he could swallow.

"Ban-chan! Leave some for the rest of us!" pleaded Ginji. He too began to eat more quickly, spurred on by the sight of rapidly disappearing food.

Natsumi chuckled and went to refill the coffee jug.

"How much are you charging for the sandwiches?"

The unfamiliar voice fluctuated between tenor and baritone. Natsumi looked around for the voice's owner and discovered a pair of jet-black eyes staring at her over the top of the counter. The eyes were partially obscured by a mop of equally black hair that nearly reached the shoulders of a boy with a slight frame.

Natsumi smiled at the boy. "Hi there. I'm Mizuki Natsumi. You must be Ryu."

"The name's Ryuji, lady. And I didn't ask for your name. I just want to know how much these sandwiches cost."

Natsumi's smile became slightly fixed. "These sandwiches are..." She was about to say 'on me' but changed her mind after considering what Paul had told her. "...going to cost you. You can't pay for them with mere cash though."

The wariness in the boy's eyes, which momentarily faded when she talked of payment, came back in full-force at the mention of non-cash payment. "How do you wish to be paid?" he asked suspiciously.

"I'm going off early after my afternoon shift tomorrow. Consider all your debts paid if you help me wash up at that time."

The boy eyed the few remaining sandwiches on the plate longingly. "What time?"

"Around four o'clock in the evening." Natsumi nearly giggled at the boy's formal tone, which contrasted sharply with his age.

"Deal," said Ryuji, reaching out for his first sandwich and encountering a plate that had been licked clean of crumbs. Ban belched contentedly and picked at his teeth, pointedly ignoring the glare-of-a-thousand-daggers he was receiving from Ryuji.

Ginji hastily offered him a small piece of sandwich he had managed to keep out of Ban's reach. "Here, Ryu-chan. I've left this aside for you..."

From the proud, indignant set of Ryuji's jaw, Natsumi could tell that Ginji's act of kindness was the worst thing that he could do at the moment. "Do keep that sandwich for yourself, Gin-chan. I'll go and make Ryuji's share since he and I have an agreement." Natsumi winked at the sullen boy at Ginji's side.

When the sandwiches were ready, Ryuji stuffed them into his ill-fitting jacket and resolved to leave café, claiming that he preferred to eat his meals alone. Even Ginji was unable to persuade him to stay; so Natsumi was not even going to try.

"Good riddance!" called Ban after him as he was leaving.

Ryuji stopped halfway through the door, his whole body turned rigid. For a tension-filled second, it looked as if he was about to turn back and begin a brawl with Ban. Then his shoulders sagged and he closed the door quietly behind him.

Ginji looked reproachfully at Ban. "Ryuji doesn't deserve so much contempt from you, Ban-chan. He's just a kid."

Ban grunted. "Give me one good reason why I should be nice to that brat, and I'll give you ten why I shouldn't."

"He's the one who found out the truth about Mr. Wazuki, you know. We would've been kept totally in the dark about the retrieval if it wasn't for Ryuji."

Ban gave Ginji a sidelong glance. "Oh? What did the brat find out?"

"That Mr. Wazuki had hired us to steal that vase..."

"It doesn't take two halves of a brain to figure that out once the client starts trying to kill us," interjected Ban irritably. "Tell me something I don't know."

"... from himself," finished Ginji.

"Say what?" blurted Ban, looking genuinely baffled.

"Somehow, Ryuji suspected that the vase was already in Mr. Wazuki's possession when we did the retrieval; and that his aim was to make it obvious that the vase was stolen."

"And those security guards we had to deal with this afternoon could serve as perfect witnesses to the theft," said Ban, in continuation of Ginji's train of thought. "That could explain why the alarm went off even though we were careful not to trigger any of the sensors. He was expecting us."

"Why would someone hire people to steal things from themselves?" asked Natsumi, puzzled.

"I can think of only one logical reason for that." Ban drew a rumpled cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it. "Insurance scam."

"But the whole set-up must have cost him millions!" exclaimed Ginji. "Our fee alone, if we… uh… did get it, that is, would have cost him a million yen already."

"The insurance cover for the vase is likely to be much more than that. Also, that beauty could easily fetch a few hundred mil in the black market. I have to admit it's an effective way to double his investment in a short time."

"So that's it?" Ginji sounded angry. "All that deception, those guards getting hurt, Ryu-chan nearly getting killed… It was all just for money?"

"You'll be surprised what humans are willing to do 'just for money'," said Ban. "When you think about it, how are we any different?"

"It's not the same!" denied Ginji hotly. "We… this job… we're not doing it only for the money, are we, Ban-chan?" There was a note of desperation in Ginji's voice.

Ban looked steadily into Ginji's eyes. "I don't make a habit of lying to myself. Why else would I be in this retrieval business if not for purely monetary reasons?"

Ginji grinned, apparently pleased with the answer he found in Ban's eyes. "You lie to yourself all the time, Ban-chan, by believing the worst in yourself. If money is the only thing you care about, you wouldn't have accepted that ten-yen assignment a few months ago; nor would you have jeopardized a ten million-yen reward to save me during that 'Marine Red' retrieval. You act all cold and selfish but underneath you're all cotton... Ow!"

It was another case of Ban attempting to cover his embarrassment by lashing out at Ginji. This time it was elbow against lower jaw. Natsumi felt sorry for Ginji, even though she understood that this was their unique way of fortifying the ties of friendship between them.

"Go ahead and believe whatever you like," growled Ban like a harassed cat. He patted the front pocket of his shirt. "I'm out of smokes. I'm going out to buy some more."

Still massaging his jaw, Ginji made as if to follow him. "I'll come with you."

"Idiot!" With one hand, Ban forced Ginji back onto the barstool and twisted his head such that Ginji was face-to-face with her. "How can you let Natsumi return home on her own so late at night? You're the one who made her wait this long; you're responsible for escorting her home!"

"That really isn't necessary," said Natsumi hurriedly. If Ginji hadn't looked so worn-out, she would have more than welcomed his company. "The trains are still running at this hour and the path I take is usually well-lit by street lamps. I'll be fine."

"You never know who or what may be lurking in the shadows," said Ban. "Besides, it's time for Ginji to make himself useful after gorging on your free meals all the time. He owes you that much at least."

"But, Ban-chan, you're the one who ate most of the-- Hyrukk!" Ginji was cut off in mid-sentence by a sharp jab to his windpipe.

To spare Ginji further infliction of pain, Natsumi gave in to the secret desire of her heart and took up Ban's suggestion. "If it's not too much trouble, Gin-chan, I'd feel safer with you around as an escort."

"Really?" Ginji croaked. "I mean, it won't be any trouble at all. I would love to accompany you."

"It's decided then," said Ban, striding towards the door. "Now you two better be up to some hanky-panky while I'm not around, get it?"

"Ban-san!" cried Natsumi, aghast, as the door shut with a tinkle of bells. Her face became as hot as a furnace, prompting her to flee to the sink on the pretense of washing some dishes. She avoided Ginji's eyes, for fear of what he would be able to read from her face.

After a period of silence that seemed to drag on for an eternity, Ginji asked, "What does 'hanky-panky' mean?"

Relief battled with frustration for dominance in Natsumi's flustered nerves. "Um… er… it means 'handkerchief'. You know, hanky… handkerchief."

"I see," said Ginji seriously. After a while, he asked, "What did Ban-chan want us to do with handkerchiefs?"

Natsumi couldn't help it. She giggled. All of a sudden, her awkwardness around Ginji evaporated. "Don't think too hard about it. Why don't you bring those plates over so that I can wash them? Once I'm done here, we can leave. We've both had a long day today."

She would get back at Ban with salt and pepper-flavoured coffee one day; but for now, she was trying to remember every moment of this experience… to be converted to cherished memories later on.

XXXXXX

After exiting Honky Tonk, Ban made his way to the Ladybug situated in the no-parking zone nearby. On principle, Ban paid no heed to traffic regulations that would either inconvenience him or cost him money. He firmly believed that the occasional parking fine would cost less in the long run, as opposed to paying every parking ticket conscientiously like a law-abiding citizen. That he had to pay an average of five hefty fines a month was beside the point. It just meant that he had yet to master the skill of dodging the hawk-eyed traffic wardens in the city who seemed to have a personal vendetta against him.

He halted in his tracks when he saw the brat sitting next to his car. Ban's eyes automatically swept over his most prized possession, inspecting it for scratches and other signs of petty vandalism.

His footsteps had alerted the brat to his presence, who then looked up and glowered at him. "Geez, what d'ya take me for, jerk?" said the brat crossly. "Do you think I'm dumb enough to stay around if I've marred your precious lil' car?"

Many people had lost their teeth over milder insults to Mido Ban. Especially insults to his Ladybug. Ban barely managed to keep a rein on his temper. "What are you doing here then, brat?"

Sweat glistened on the brat's forehead. "What I do is my business. Where I choose to do it is my business. The last time I checked, this place is public property."

The brat was hiding something. Ban took a closer look at his car and noticed that one of the doors was unlocked. Was it deliberately left unlocked just now? What was in the car that was worth stealing? There was nothing in there except… A niggling suspicion formed at the back of Ban's mind. He also detected a familiar scent in the air that was both metallic and organic. "Fine, I'll ask you about something else."

"Why should I answer your questions?" The brat said defiantly. "Porcupine-head."

Ban casually picked the brat up by his ankles and bounced his head on the ground a few times. The curses and expletives spewed out by the brat would have singed Ginji's ears off. "First question. How did you find out that our client and the person we took the vase from are one and the same?"

When this question was answered with a suggestion for him to do the anatomically impossible, Ban lowered his arms until he heard a satisfying smack on the road. "There's a distinction between bravery and foolhardiness, brat. Wise up and think about your answers carefully."

The brat favoured his right leg as he was dropped to the ground, which confirmed Ban's suspicions. "I have nothing to say to you! You… you…" Clenching his teeth tightly, the brat said no more.

Trying a different tack, Ban said, "It's your right leg, isn't it?"

The brat maintained his sulky silence, but Ban could see that the younger boy was surprised to be found out.

"Those black jeans of yours camouflaged the blood stains well, but the stench of blood is still there. It wasn't obvious initially because Ginji was injured as well." Ban bent down and tugged the brat's pant leg up. There was a blood-soaked bandage underneath.

"Keep your slimy hands to yourself!" shouted the brat, kicking and pulling away.

Ban's expression turned grim. "How…?"

"As if you care!" The brat's face looked ashen. All that movement must have aggravated the pain in his leg. "Aren't you glad that I'm shot? I bet you're disappointed that I'm even alive!"

"You do know that gunshot wounds tend to fester if you don't get the bullet out, don't you?"

"I've pried the bullet out already." The brat trembled. Ban could only guess what he had gone through to achieve that. "It missed the larger blood vessels, so I suppose it's unlikely that I'll bleed to death. Too bad for you, eh, Porcupine-head?"

Ban chose not to rise to the bait. "No. I want you to stay alive long enough to pay for those dressings and bandages you've just used."

The brat turned his head away and would not look at him.

"So what's the answer to my first question?" Ban asked.

The brat stopped being difficult for a change. "It's the same way you found out that I was injured. Smell. The master bedroom of that mansion we broke into stank of the same cologne the client was wearing. It was also kinda strange that I couldn't find any photographs or portraits of the mansion's owner anywhere."

The offhand manner in which the brat mentioned the master bedroom rang alarm bells in Ban's head. "What were you doing in the master bedroom?"

Ban's enquiry was met with silence.

"Heh… I guess bandages aren't the only things you steal," remarked Ban snidely.

"I'm not...!"

"A thief?" That shut the brat up effectively. "Look, there's no shame in doing what you have to do in order to stay alive, alright?" _God alone knows what I had to do to ensure my own survival. For some cursed reason, it often involved crushing the life out of my closest friends._ "I'm not expecting you to behave like a saint. Not with your background."

The brat's shoulders tensed visibly. "What do you know of my background?"

"It doesn't matter how you ended up on the streets, or who you were before it happened. For you to survive this long in this city alone and unaided, you have to learn things which would change you forever."

Ban walked over to the driver's side of the car. He had wasted enough time talking with the brat. There were things he had to do before Ginji returned.

"Where are you going?" The brat sounded subdued.

"Ha, what are you? My parole officer?" Ban taunted.

Unperturbed, the brat replied. "I want to know, that's all."

Ban did not know how to handle the brat now that the overt hostility and resentment were gone. Perhaps that was why he let slip the truth. "I'm paying a visit to our client. He would learn that trampling on the Get Backers is not without its consequences."

"What?" The brat grimaced as he got up quickly. "You… But what purpose would that serve? Mr. Wazuki is the rightful owner of that antique vase, no matter how you look at it."

"Who said anything about taking the vase from him?" Ban started the engine. "Although that's not a bad idea, considering the fact that he hadn't paid us yet."

"When you said 'consequences', I thought…"

"Let's just say that I'm going to give him a dream to remember us by. And while I'm at it, I'll also get a confession out of him for the insurance compa… Hey! What're you doing in my car! Get the hell out!"

"If you kick me out now, I'll run straight to Honky Tonk and tell Ginji about your plans," threatened the brat.

That was the reason why Ban hated brats. "What makes you think Ginji doesn't know anything about this?"

"Revenge is a concept quite foreign to Ginji," The brat was quite confident of his assessment of Ginji's character. "He would stop you if he knew. I, on the other hand, won't."

Ban groaned. "You're a liability, brat. I don't have the time or the energy to baby-sit you when the action heats up."

"That's fine by me," said the brat, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Besides, two people working together make a more formidable force than one person working alone. Don't you agree?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Author's note: **After months of work, this 'filler' chapter (Read: a chapter that doesn't progress the story much, can even be a stand-alone story, and doesn't commit the author to write further) is what I could come up with. The plot is a tad fragmented and all the action is either retrospective or prospective. I hope I haven't put people to sleep with this. Many thanks to Bahaghari for proofreading this chapter for me. Any comments and constructive criticism will be much appreciated :)


	3. Unsavoury Company

(Standard disclaimers apply)

**The Wake**

_3. Unsavoury Company_

It was dark inside the trunk. So dark that he could hardly make out the hands he held out before him. It smelt funny too, with a combination of burnt aging automobile stinks and ripe garbage odours hovering in the stagnant air.

Air. He wondered if car trunks were airtight, and if they were, how long it would take for him to use up all the oxygen that was around him. His next thought was whether asphyxiation is painful. Upon finding that thought not only horribly depressing, but also totally unproductive, he terminated it. Now's not the time to think of death. Had he not survived worse situations in the past? Luck had something to do with that, but mostly it was his desperate clinging to life that did the trick. His life was close to unbearable ever since the most important part of it had been forcibly ripped apart. Even so, he would not relinquish what was left of it. For as long as he still lived, there was hope. Hope to regain a lost dream or, at least, the remnants of a shattered dream.

Strange. What had caused those memories to resurface at a time like this? He had to find a way to get out of here soon. If he continued on like this, with nothing to occupy him except his own thoughts, he would eventually drive himself mad.

He used his fingers to feel the boundaries of his small prison. His legs were folded in front of his chest and he had to reach around them to perform the task. Metal, metal, metal… and a tiny area of plastic where the taillight was. Curves, dents, corners. No matter how many times he tried, he still could not find anything that could unlock the trunk from the inside. Wishful thinking. If there was a way for him to escape from the trunk, he wouldn't be locked inside the trunk now, would he? Perhaps he could use his knife to poke a hole through the taillight… _Nah._ However tempting it was, for he could mentally visualize the anguish this would cause the car's owner, he decided against it because such an action would inevitably dull the blade. And he really wished to preserve that keen edge for later.

When he had suggested that they work together, the bastard had laughed. _Laughed._ The knife's too good for scum like him.

XXXXXX

Getting into the mansion was a cinch. All he needed was a uniform, which he managed to borrow from his old pal the detective who owed the Get Backers a favour or two for their help in solving a couple of cases in the past.

After the break-in was reported, the place had been swamped with police investigating the scene of the crime. Thanks to that, another uniformed cop paying a late visit to the owner for clarification of some details did not attract much attention. The few security guards who were able to recognize him were promptly taken care of by the Jagan. Let them imagine that the policeman walking past the gates looked nothing like the thief who knocked them out earlier in the day; that they were so badly shaken up by the ordeal that their eyes were beginning to play tricks on them. Besides, what kind of a thief would revisit the house he had broken into just hours after the deed?

The Evil Eye was used a second time in order to extract a confession from the mastermind behind the theft. Fortunately for Ban, Mr. Wazuki was all too willing to brag about his success once he thought he had both retrieval agents pinned down on the floor by his bodyguards and facing execution shortly. In reality, the crooked tycoon was generously providing incriminating evidence against himself to the police hotline. Ban trusted that all calls to the police were recorded; but just in case, he also had Mr. Wazuki's verbal confession taped; ready to be mailed to the relevant authorities or insurance firm if necessary.

One objective acquired, Ban put the receiver back in its cradle and moved on to the next one on his list. He altered Mr. Wazuki's hallucination to one where the man underwent unimaginable horrors- the least of which involved being burnt alive and having his flesh melt off like candle wax. Ban possessed a flair for conjuring up gruesome imagery; and that talent was put to good use in the creation of a personalized nightmare for his ex-client. To muffle the screams, he had stuffed a sock into the terrified man's gaping mouth. It might last only a minute in real life but Ban could make it feel like a good many hours in the mind. Even after the magic wore off, the man would still be too traumatized to form any coherent thoughts for a while.

Ban tried to feel a smidgen of guilt for what he was doing but found that he could feel no such emotion. Actions have consequences, and Mr. Wazuki would just have to pay for what he did to Ginji. Ginji. Not the brat. The severity of the brat's injuries had _absolutely no_ influence whatsoever on the severity of the punishment he was carrying out on the client.

Ban locked the door when he left the study room. It would not do for the gagged and whimpering master of the house to be discovered too soon.

Well, maybe a little influence. But Ban would rather soak in boiling tar and roll in a mound of feathers before admitting to such a thing. The irascible brat was annoying enough without being insufferably clingy as well. Who did he think he was fooling with all that 'I'm better off on my own' posturing? That brat was so determined to deny his yearning for a sense of belonging that he had embraced his own self-delusions. Ban understood all too well what that had felt like.

He tugged his cap a bit lower as he passed by the servants in the corridor. Not suspecting that anything was amiss, they bowed courteously to him as he walked past. Leaving the mansion was proving to be less of a challenge than he expected. Once he was outside, Ban debated his next course of action. He had no wish to risk recognition by the same security guards; so he settled on bypassing the main gate by vaulting the perimeter wall. Of course, he could have easily knocked out all the guards again, but that would ruin his plan for a quiet exit. Being naturally cautious, he checked that no one was around to see him before making the leap.

What he had not counted on was the possibility of someone standing on the other side of the wall.

Right in the middle of his landing zone, as his rotten luck would have it.

Cursing, Ban twisted sharply in mid-air and kicked hard against the wall to push himself off his original course. He barely avoided landing squarely on the person's head, whoever it was. However, in a conditioned reflex to break his fall, his left hand had seized one of the wide lapels of the person's overcoat and the two of them hit the ground with a thud.

The noise was not loud enough to wake the dead but Ban was anxious to escape the scene nonetheless. He glanced at the person who had partially cushioned his fall- an old man, judging by the hoary hair and wizened face. The old man's forehead was stained with blood and, for a second, Ban panicked at the thought that he might have committed accidental manslaughter. A closer examination filled Ban with relief. The man was still alive, displaying a rhythmic rise and fall of the chest as well as palpable pulses in his carotids. Furthermore, the blood coating the old man's head was of a dried, rusty-brown colour, which signified that he was injured before Ban ever came into the picture.

_It's not my fault. Not entirely anyway._ Still, Ban couldn't help feeling a pinch from his conscience for having added to the old man's injuries. He briefly considered carrying the old man to his Ladybug and driving him to a hospital. The downside to that decision was that it would be too time-consuming; not to mention damned inconvenient. The old man dispelled Ban's indecision by stirring and showing signs of regaining consciousness. "What… the hell…?" muttered the old man with his eyes still shut. Threatening words that promised retribution soon followed. "When I get… my hands on…"

_If he's able to get to a hospital on his own, my help will be redundant._ At least that was how Ban justified his cowardly abandonment of the injured old man as he raced towards his Ladybug that was parked three blocks away. It was not that he was afraid of confronting the man. The thought of that septuagenarian being capable of harming even one strand of hair on his head was almost laughable. Ban just didn't feel like facing angry old men unless it was absolutely necessary, that's all. Why stick around and admit fault when you can take off and leave your victim none the wiser?

Ban slowed down to a walking pace when his car came into view. His disguise was soon shed in favour of his usual tank top and faded black trousers. He got into the driver's seat and threw the cap and uniform carelessly onto the empty passenger seat.

Only then did it occur to him that the emptiness of that seat was somehow very significant; as was the conspicuously quiet state of the back of his car. Grumbling about his misfortune of being lugged with bothersome brats, Ban reluctantly walked around to the car trunk and rapped the lid loudly with his knuckles. "Yo, squirt! You alive in there?"

Fifteen seconds ticked by without any sound or sign of movement from within the trunk.

_Oh, shit._

XXXXXX

The sound of a key turning in its lock heralded the opening of the trunk. Like a tightly coiled spring given release, Ryuji made his move.

He struck out in that split second before the visual cover provided by the raising trunk lid was lost. His odd sense of honour forbade him from landing the blow right where it could achieve maximum damage, so Ryuji aimed his kick higher up in the abdomen. This was rewarded by a great deal of swearing and before the door to his metal prison could be slammed shut once again, Ryuji swung his knife to dislodge any fingers that were still holding onto the trunk lid. The creep who owned those fingers backed off far enough for Ryuji to complete his escape from the trunk.

"What's your friggin' problem, you blood-thirsty runt!" Porcupine-head sucked furiously on a nicked finger. That nickname was not entirely appropriate now that Porcupine-head's hair was a flattened mane very similar to his own. Regardless, Ryuji had no intention of calling that prick by his real name.

"What's _my_ problem?" Ryuji's voice rose an octave and cracked, betraying both his agitated state and his age. It was difficult to maintain his dignity and righteous anger when he sounded like a boy barely past puberty. "**You,** you flea-bitten mongrel! You sorry excuse for a human being! You excreta from the bowels of the earth!" Ryuji was starting to feel light-headed, though whether from his blood loss, his near-suffocation or his excessive yelling he couldn't say. "Why d'ya think I'm attacking you!"

Porcupine-head had the gall to look offended. "I don't know. Does a rabid dog need any reasons to bite?"

Ryuji responded by lunging forward with his knife extended. Blind, hot rage pushed all rational thoughts out of his mind. If he had been in a calmer state of mind, he would have known better than to engage in a fight with Porcupine-head, especially while sporting a wounded leg that had him hobbling. As it was, Ryuji no longer cared about the strength differential between them or how extremely unwise his actions were.

Porcupine-head effortlessly dodged his stabs and swipes, looking almost bored with the exercise. "If you don't cease this… chicken dance… of yours soon, I shall start retaliating."

Ryuji reeled from the blow on his ego. "Chick…" He was beginning to regret not using his knife to cripple Porcupine-head earlier when he had the chance. Sense of honour be damned. "That does it! You're…" Ryuji forgot what dire threats he was about to utter when he noticed that they were no longer alone. His eyes grew very wide when he recognized the elderly man who was silently watching them some distance away.

_Damn it. I knew I should've used a larger rock on him._ Now was not the time for them to be at each other's throats. Porcupine-head, with his back to the man, did not seem to be aware that they had company. "Look behind you!" Ryuji hissed warningly, a finger raised and pointing at their sinister spectator.

Instead of paying heed to his warning, Porcupine-head seized hold of his pointing finger and bent it backwards until Ryuji was forced onto his knees. It was either that or risk dislocating his forefinger. "Never take your eyes off your opponent while you're fighting, twerp," said Porcupine-head, sounding for all the world like a teacher giving a few pointers to a particularly slow pupil. Ryuji, with his grip on his knife greatly weakened, was disarmed with ease. "And I'm insulted that you even thought I'd fall for such a first-grader trick."

Blinking away the tears of pain that had sprung into his eyes, Ryuji gasped, "You twice-damned fool! There really is someone behind…"

"The best liars continue to lie even after they've been caught. Give it up already. Are you so thick-headed that you're still expecting me to belie…" Porcupine-head, apparently in an attempt to humour him, finally turned his head and looked behind. To his surprise, Porcupine-head's expression became riddled with guilt, like that of a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Crap," said Porcupine-head with feeling.

The elderly man - the assassin - levelled a steely glare at Porcupine-head. "You were the intruder who fell on me just now, weren't you?"

Porcupine-head tried to look outraged at the accusation. "I don't know what you're talking about, old man."

The assassin shifted his gaze towards Ryuji. Those cold eyes glittered like obsidian, causing an involuntary shiver to travel down Ryuji's spine. "And you're the boy I met this afternoon. One of the Get Backers, I presume?"

Before Ryuji could open his mouth, Porcupine-head burst out indignantly. "The hell he is! Get your facts straight, you ignorant old geezer! How can you possibly think that this pipsqueak has anything to do with the legendary retriever duo- the Get Backers!"

Ryuji gnashed his teeth. To add insult to injury, Porcupine-head began shaking him like a rag doll while trying to prove his point. After a few unsuccessful attempts to pry off the hateful hand that was gripping his collar, Ryuji resorted to using his teeth. With a roar and a curse, Ryuji was dropped heavily onto the ground.

Porcupine-head examined the red traces of incisors and canines left behind on his hand and scowled fiercely. "You're spending way too much time with Ginji, brat. You know that, don't you?"

Ryuji scrabbled to his feet a little unsteadily. "Let's continue our bloody war another time, okay?" He pointed at the assassin once more; but this time, he took the precaution of standing further away from Porcupine-head. "This guy is one of Mr. Wazuki's lackeys, the one who's responsible for that slash across Ginji's stomach."

Porcupine-head stared at the elderly assassin and then back at him, a look of disbelief plastered on his face. "This old geezer? He practically has one foot stuck in the grave! How could Ginji be injured by someone like him!"

"This Ginji you're talking about…" interrupted the assassin. "He's that retrieval agent who can generate electricity from his hands, is he not? What is your relationship with him?"

"Who wants to know?" snapped Porcupine-head, prickly and defensive all of a sudden.

"I don't wish to kill unless I really have to," said the assassin in a regretful tone. "If you're not involved with this underground _dakkanya_ group called the Get Bac…"

"I am." Porcupine-head said it like a challenge. "And I'd like to see you try, old man."

The assassin locked gazes with Porcupine-head. "Then there's no point in delaying the inevitable." A thin, blue-veined hand drew out the double-edged sword that was hidden from sight before this. "Let us begin."

They charged at the same time. To Ryuji's eyes, it was as if the two of them had teleported instantaneously to clash aggressively at midpoint. Porcupine-head nimbly weaved in and out of the deadly strokes while lashing out with his clawed hands. Sparks and gravel flew where the blade made contact with the road.

_That blade is going to blunt very quickly if he continues to fight like that._ As Ryuji watched more closely, he discovered that the assassin was deliberately dragging his sword across the ground. _Why does he keep on doing that?_ Ryuji suddenly felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his left shoulder. He was shocked to discover that he was bleeding from a clean cut that had penetrated his jacket and into the flesh underneath. _How…?_

Still in a daze as to what had happened, Ryuji heard Porcupine-head shouting, "Stand back, you annoying brat!"

When the road near Ryuji's feet started to erupt in a scatter of gravel, he hurriedly backed away from the fighting zone. Ryuji was positive that the sword had not touched him. What had cut him was more like an extension of the sword- a powerful slice of wind that could deal as much damage as the blade itself. Gingerly, he probed the wound in his shoulder and was relieved to find that cut was not very deep. He doubted that he could afford to lose any more blood that day.

His attention returned to the duel that was being fought before him. Porcupine-head had managed to dodge all the assassin's attacks so far, with nary a mark on him. However, Porcupine-head did not appear to be gaining the upper hand yet, most probably because he was effectively kept at bay by the assassin's longer-ranged weapon.

_If only there is something I can do to tip the scales a bit._ Ryuji reached for his knife that was no longer there, only to recall that Porcupine-head had taken it from him. He pounded his thighs with his fists. He hated this. He hated feeling so helpless; especially at critical times when he could have made a difference if only he was stronger. Porcupine-head was right. He was nothing but a liability after all.

XXXXXX

He smashed his sword onto the ground and utilized the rebound force to significantly speed up his following upward stroke. This unexpected move had been useful in decapitating many of his targets in the past. However, the teenage _dakkanya_ was able to anticipate the move and leap out of the path of the blade in the nick of time.

_Impressive._ His young opponent landed a safe distance away from him, out of the range of any follow-up attacks. While using this opportunity to take a breather, he noticed that the _dakkanya_ was not breathing heavily at all. Experienced as he was in his line of work, he realized then that his skills were insufficient to terminate his present target. Not in a fair fight.

A small smile touched the corners of his mouth. "From all your big talk just now, I was hoping that you would make the fatal mistake of underestimating me. I see now that you were merely provoking me into a rage so that I would be careless when I fight you." _Not only a fighter, but a strategist as well._ "You make a very dangerous enemy, young 'un."

"I've no need for that extra edge to beat an antique like you. This is me at forty percent of my full capacity. You're only good for warm-ups, gramps."

The youth's cocky confidence and boundless sense of invincibility reminded him of what he was like at that age. It was a pity that they had to kill each other. "Indeed? I guess I can't rely on normal attacks anymore." He glanced meaningfully at the boy whom the _dakkanya_ had derided as 'pipsqueak' earlier; making sure that his intention was obvious. It was not wholly a ploy. The boy was also on his hit list. "I'll just have to execute an attack you can't dodge."

The _dakkanya_ lazily took off his sunglasses and sniggered. "If you want to make mincemeat of that street trash over there, go ahead." Serpentine eyes bore into his like an auger. "Be my guest."

The _dakkanya_'s response surprised him. He thought he had the young man's true nature figured out. Without hesitation, he sprang towards the petrified boy, expecting to be intercepted halfway. But he met with no resistance. Not when he reached the boy and roughly grabbed a handful of greasy, black hair. Not even when he pulled the head back and pressed the sword's edge against his victim's neck.

Hands buried deep in trouser pockets, the _dakkanya_ made no move to stop him. "What are you waiting for, old man?"

So his ploy didn't work, but at least one of his targets was secured. "Sorry, kid," he whispered. "You should've chosen your friends more wisely." He slit the boy's throat. He let the dying body slide to the ground and backed a step to give it space to complete its death throes before becoming motionless forever. A pool of blood expanded sluggishly from the focal point that was the boy's nearly severed neck.

"Your companion is dead." He scrutinized the _dakkanya_'s face for signs of remorse but found none. _Cold-blooded bastard, aren't you?_ In that respect, they were very similar. "You have yourself to blame for it."

"Are you really sure he's dead?" asked the _dakkanya_ eerily.

Before he had the chance to puzzle over that strange question, the boy's corpse suddenly rose from the ground and latched onto his legs. Pushing down the terror that was threatening to paralyze him, he attempted to kick the corpse away, but his feet felt as if they were glued onto the ground. The dead boy tilted his head upwards and he recoiled at the sight. The gaping wound under the boy's chin was like a hideous second grin aimed at him. In a desperate frenzy, he hacked off the arms holding him and managed to free himself. While retreating from the corpse, his legs moved as if they were immersed in water. Looking down, he saw that it was not water, but blood. He was knee-deep in a pool of viscous blood.

A part of his mind told him that what he was seeing could not be real; that it was all a hallucination. In his experience, dead people stayed dead. Holding onto that reassuring thought, he was able to master his fear when more zombies emerged from the blood pool. They were all corpses in various stages of decay; corpses of various people he had assassinated in the last few years. Bony, rotting hands reached out towards him and he systematically sliced them to pieces with his sword. Dealing death to the undead was no different from dealing it to living. Nothing could faze him now…

A crack appeared in his shell of emotional detachment when he caught sight of the pale, slender woman facing him from a distance. Her wind-tousled auburn locks framed a face that was brimming with sadness.

_Yuuko_…

His daughter was as silent as she usually was. One thing was different. Her once-vacant eyes now exuded an emotion that he had always dreaded to see. Shame. Shame at him and what he had done. Shame at what he had become. "No…" His voice trembled. "Don't look at me like that. I… I did it for you! All those people I killed… I did it out of love…"

Those eyes held no pity, no mercy, no forgiveness. Those eyes held only judgment. With that gaze, she repudiated him.

"NO!" He tried to rush towards her but multiple hands were holding him back, pulling him ever deeper into a swirling vortex of blood and death. He hadn't even realized that he had discarded his sword and that he was now at the mercy of his vengeful victims. He stopped struggling after a while. It mattered little what happened to him. He had lost the only thing that mattered to him; the only thing that he had been fighting to preserve all this time. He took comfort in knowing that Yuuko was alive once more- no longer the soulless doll she used to be.

The darkness swallowed him up.

XXXXXX

"Wha… What happened to him?"

"The same thing that's going to happen to you if you don't get your butt inside the car this instant!" It was an empty threat, he knew, for he had used up his daily allowance of Jagan already. But the brat didn't know that. "Or, if you wish, you can stay here and be turned into sashimi. Your choice."

Ban averted his eyes from the tearful man kneeling on the road. He had not expected the old man's psyche to be so fragile. Although it made it easier for him to break the man's mind, it also made Ban feel like he had waded through muck. He took no pride in what he had done.

The brat was sitting quietly in the passenger seat when he got into the car. '_How atypical_,' Ban thought, but that was because he couldn't witness his own dark expression. He wanted to drive off before the minute was up, as he had no desire to finish his duel with the old man.

The brat was relentless. "You did something to him, didn't you?"

"So what if I did?" In no mood to be interrogated, Ban offered no more information.

"You… that…" A brief pause. "That was the 'dream' thing you mentioned before, am I right?"

The brat was quite perceptive, to have reached that conclusion just from observing the old man's breakdown from the side.

"So what if it was?"

"It must be nice to have a special ability that guarantees you victory in every fight, even if your opponent is stronger than you." A hint of resentment.

_Nice?_ Ban's grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles turned white. "Quit your whining, you weakling." Ban knew that his words had hit the mark when he heard the brat's sharp intake of breath.

"Yes, I'll admit that I'm a weakling." Rage was boiling beneath a thin veneer of calm. "Even so, I won't be spoken to like that! Not by you, or anyone else! Let's settle this once and for…"

"Look, twerp, you've taken advantage of my kind and sweet nature long enough. Frankly, I'm tired of having to put up with your psychotic behaviour."

"Kind and…!" There was a retching noise.

"If you hurl for real, I'm booting you out of my car without bothering to stop first. Understood?" Ban was not kidding, and he made sure that his toneless voice reflected this.

After they drove in silence for a while, the brat demanded, "I want my knife back, Porcupine-head."

Ban resisted the temptation to boot the ungrateful kid out through the window then and there, hurl or no hurl. "Don't worry. I'll give it back to you soon enough," he said through clenched teeth. "The moment I drop you off for good."

The brat eyed him suspiciously. "What do you mean, 'for good'?"

"It's time for you to leave, runt. Your attachment to the Get Backers officially ends today."

"But you can't…" protested the brat. "Need I remind you who has been paying for your nicotine fix these past two weeks? We had an agreement! Ten packets of cigs for one assign…"

"Playtime's over, brat," snapped Ban, losing his patience. "We're not dealing with missing pets or extorted lunch money anymore. Tag along with us long enough, and you'll most certainly die an early death. You're too weak. You can't even protect yourself."

"Faugh! Don't say it as if you're doing this for my safety! You're just trying to get rid of me!"

"Yes, I'm trying to get rid of you alright. So be a good boy, make like a tree, and lea…"

"Hell, I won't! Doesn't Ginji have a say in this too? You're not the only member of the Get…"

"Ginji would agree with me," stated Ban confidently.

Silence.

The kid's attitude completely changed where Ginji was concerned. He should have noticed this before. "Have you forgotten that Ginji had allowed you to join us on one condition? Once you're hurt in any serious way…"

"But he doesn't know that I'm hurt! And he doesn't have to know!"

"I know. And I'm telling him."

"You creep!" The brat cried, stamping his foot petulantly. "Well, I'm telling him about your little venture behind his back tonight!"

Ban snorted. Where pleading fails, try blackmailing? "What will you tell him?"

"That you… um… went and saw Mr. Wazuki and exacted revenge from him!"

"Ah yes, and you could see all that from the vantage point of the interior of the car trunk, couldn't you?" Ban smirked at the dumbfounded boy.

"You…" The brat's pointing finger quivered. "You did it on purpose!"

"Oh, come now. Did you really think that I locked you in the trunk by accident?"

Refusing to admit defeat, the brat plodded on. "I'll improvise then! It's not hard to imagine what atrocities you're capable of!"

"You can do that, and we'll see whom Ginji trusts more. You, the human chewing gum that got stuck to the bottom of his shoe two weeks ago; or me, his partner for the past two years."

"Two years? That's not a very long time, is it?"

"That's still more than fifty times longer than you've known him, you pint-sized punk!" Ban slammed on the brakes, forcing the car to an abrupt halt. "Out. Now."

The brat clung to the seat like a limpet. "I'm not leaving."

_One swift punch on the noggin; that's all it takes_… Ban sighed. "I don't know what you're running away from, brat, but clinging to Ginji isn't the solution."

The brat jerked upright and glared at him sideways. "You're the one doing the running, not me," he countered.

"Me! The almighty Mido Ban-sama never…!" Ban realized, too late, that he had been sidetracked rather cunningly.

"You ran away from your fight with the assassin just now, didn't you? With your tail between your legs, no less."

"Are you blind or something! You saw how I could have easily crushed that rickety old…"

"Then why didn't you?" asked the brat angrily.

"Because he's ancient! Not to mention bleeding from the head before we even fought. Do I look like the twisted type who enjoys elderly abuse?"

"He's not an ordinary old man. You saw how he had wounded Ginji."

So that was the reason behind the anger. "And Ginji had wounded him too; though I hadn't expected that," said Ban, frowning. "I didn't think Ginji had it in him to be that brutal towards an opponent like that."

The brat had the look of someone bearing up under a mild irritation of the bowels. "Uh… yeah."

Eyes narrowing into slits, Ban asked, "You wouldn't have something to do with that old man's injuries now, would you?"

The brat's silence was as condemning as a loud confession.

"Right," said Ban. "So, not only do you go around stealing stuff, you also do a bit of mugging as a sideline."

"I don't _mug_! I hit him purely in self-defence!"

"Self-defence, my ass," Ban quipped. "He'd have to be more or less unconscious for you to even get close enough to touch him. If that's the case, there's really no point in hitting him anymore. What did you do? Wait for Ginji to incapacitate him and then jump in for easy pickings?"

"You've no right to judge me!" The brat's nostrils flared like an enraged bull's. "It's all your fault that I had to do such a despicable thing!"

Ban covered his eyes with a hand wearily. "How is it _my_ fault now?"

"If you hadn't sent Ginji off on his own to meet up with the client, none of this would have happened! Ginji wouldn't have gotten hurt, and I wouldn't have to do what was necessary to keep both of us safe!"

"By 'what was necessary', you meant the bludgeoning of a defenceless old man?"

"Yes!" declared the brat fiercely. "Because you chose not to come along with Ginji when you should have!"

"I was held up by a dozen or so security guards," said Ban, trying not to sound too defensive. "Remember?"

"I don't believe that's the reason. You could've made short work of those guards. It shouldn't be a difficult task for the almighty Mido Ban-sama, right?" The brat pronounced the honorific with a sneer. "You sent Ginji to collect the payment alone on purpose. Why?"

_Why indeed?_ Ban was not sure of the reason himself. Perhaps it was Ginji's desperate eagerness to prove himself worthy of his role as one of the Get Backers. _As if such a demonstration is necessary... the idiot._ Or maybe it was the look of utter misery on Ginji's face when he was sent away. Ban had succumbed to the hidden plea in that look and changed his original order of 'wait for me and don't do anything stupid' to 'make yourself useful and go get the money'. One million yen was a lot to risk in Ginji's hands; especially with the dolt's horrendous past record of breaking, microwaving and drowning their retrieved items out of sheer carelessness or stupidity. But a partnership could not work without trust, and he had trusted Ginji to do his job; the same way Ginji had trusted him to do his.

No matter what his real reason was, Ban had no intention of sharing it with anyone. "Who are you to demand any explanations from me?" he said flatly. "You're nothing to the Get Backers, so stop acting as if you belong with us."

The brat flinched. "I'm… Ginji's friend."

"But you're definitely not one of mine." Ban threw the confiscated switchblade onto the brat's lap. "Now get out of here."

The brat did not move; not even to pick up his weapon.

Ban was about to haul the boy bodily out of the car when he heard a sniffle. _No, don't tell me he's…_If there was one thing Ban hated more than brats, it was a crying brat. _Argh! _"Crocodile tears don't work on me, bud!"

Ban had hoped to infuriate the brat into a state of tearless-ness but the plan backfired. More tears gushed forth and Ban wanted to bang his head on the steering wheel. Repeatedly. _Why me? Why me? Why me?_…"Will you stop that already!"

"I j-just want t-to… " The brat stammered between choked sobs. "… be w-with… some…one w-who… c-cares…"

Throwing his arms up in defeat, Ban bellowed, "OKAY! Stay if you want to! Get yourself killed if you want to! Just stop that infernal bawling at once!"

A pin-drop silence suddenly filled the air. The brat nonchalantly flicked the remaining tears off his bleary eyes. "If you say so."

_I can't believe I fell for that._ "On one condition though," growled Ban, more angry with himself than with the smug boy before him.

"Hey, you can't back out from your promise now! You just said that I can…"

"One carton of cigarettes for each assignment from now on," said Ban, matching the brat glare for glare. "This is a deal-breaker."

Bemused, the brat looked at him steadily for a few seconds. He then nodded. "Okay."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Author's Note: **I wasn't planning to post another chapter so soon (yes, for a tremendously slow writer like me, a two month period is considered 'soon'). This chapter is written mainly for those of you who are expecting a 'teamwork scene' from me. Originally, I was too lazy to write this part of the story; but after it's finished, I'm sort of glad that I did. Also, the long dialogue at the end of the chapter serves to (blatantly) answer a few questions posed to me in the reviews. As usual, any feedback is greatly appreciated :)


	4. Taken

(Standard disclaimers apply)

**The Wake**

_4. Taken_

His dreams had been troubled for as long as he could remember. Ever since he was a young child, he would wake up crying, not knowing the exact cause of his distress. He could never recall what his dreams were about. All he remembered were the suffocating feelings of hurt and anger and betrayal that followed him into the waking world. He was not even sure if those feelings were his own or someone else's. What he did know for sure was that somewhere, someone was lonely and was trying to reach out. Reaching out for who or what, he could not tell.

_'I'm here' _he wanted to say to that seeking presence. But he had no voice. He had lost his ability to be heard years ago.

XXXXXX

Ryuji woke up with a start, his brow tinged with sweat. Taking in a ragged breath, he tried to remain calm under the barrage of intense emotions that always plagued him during his first few minutes after waking. He allowed his gaze to roam and it quickly dawned on him that he was lying on his side, in a car (the hand brake was digging uncomfortably into his shoulder) and on someone's lap. That last bit of information caused his heart to leap to the back of his throat, for he definitely felt it beating there. The owner of the lap on which his head was resting was wearing black pants. And he could think of only one person who wore black pants all the time.

In retrospect, what he did next was decidedly unwise. He should have noticed that the owner of those black pants was still asleep at the time, and that he could have sneaked away without being noticed; but he didn't. What he ended up doing was jerk upright, smash his skull against Porcupine-head's chin with a loud crack and cleave to the opposite end of the car in a desperate attempt to place as much distance between them as possible. His panicking mind failed to point out to him that he should have opened the car door then and run as if a pack of hellhounds were snapping on his heels. As a consequence, he was still gawping like an idiot on the passenger seat when Porcupine-head's beady, hostile eyes fell on him.

"Damn you, Ginji! Can't you…" Those eyes widened in shock when what Porcupine-head saw finally pierced the haze of sleep over his mind.

Ryuji knew what the short-fused Get Backer was about to ask next, so he beat him to it. "Ick! Why the hell are you sleeping next to me!" _The best defense is offense._

Porcupine-head looked furious, stunned and confused at the same time. Perhaps the psychological trauma of discovering that they had spent one whole night in close proximity to each other had yet to pass. "That's my line, you brat! This is _my_ car! How the hell did you end up sleeping in my car!"

Ryuji seriously thought about the question. How the hell, indeed. He recalled their fiery exchange last night, whereby he had successfully tricked Porcupine-head into promising to let him stay with Ginji- at the cost of more cigarettes; but it was a small price to pay. As for what happened afterwards, his memories drew a blank. He must have fallen asleep sometime during the rest of their drive back to Honky Tonk, or wherever the car was parked right now. No matter what, Porcupine-head was the one who fell asleep after him, so he was the one to be blamed for this highly regrettable incident. "Believe me, it's definitely not because I wanted to! And if you really did mind so much, how come you didn't kick me out last night, instead of glowering at me now as if it's all my fault?"

"It _is_ your fault!" barked Porcupine-head, the confused look still lingering on his face. Ryuji was beginning to suspect that something about what happened last night deeply troubled Porcupine-head; so much so that the jerk's usually sharp barbed comebacks were presently quite blunted. "If you hadn't…"

"Please try to keep it down, Ban-chan," piped a familiar, groggy voice from the backseat. "It's really hard to sleep when you're yelling like that."

Immense relief flooded Ryuji upon hearing that voice. Porcupine-head wouldn't dare do anything to him with Ginji around... well, most of the time anyway. At the very least, Ginji could serve as a good distraction when he and Porcupine-head were a hair away from chewing each other out both figuratively and literally. Like right now. 

"Ginji!" There was a deep-throated rumbling coming from Porcupine-head, making him sound like a bulldog about to pounce. "Care to explain to me why you're back there while little psycho here is on the front seat with me?"

With hair sticking out at odd, messy angles, Ginji sat up and yawned loudly. "I came back late last night and uh… heh… got a bit lost on my way back. I didn't have enough money on me to pay for the return ticket, so I had to walk the rest of the way and um… You know how bad my sense of direction is, so…" Ginji blinked his sleep-glazed eyes. "Sorry, what was your question again?"

Before Porcupine-head could do more than sound like a bulldog and do the actual pouncing itself, Ryuji quickly supplied the question. "Why didn't you wake us up when you got back?"

"Oh, that." Ginji chortled in amusement. "Both of you looked so cozy together that I didn't have the heart to wake either of you up."

Both Porcupine-head and he could only stare at the blonde with identical gob-smacked expressions on their faces. What was frightening, and even a little disturbing, was that there was no trace of sarcasm in Ginji's voice. For someone who demonstrated unbelievably keen perceptiveness at times, it was baffling how Ginji could be so blind to certain glaringly obvious truths; such as if Ryuji was given the choice between sleeping on an anthill and sleeping near Porcupine-head, he'd choose the anthill any time.

"I'm hungry. What are we having for breakfast?" asked Ginji, radiating innocence like a small sun.

XXXXXX

Ginji whimpered as he massaged the tender lump on top of his cranium. "Ban-chan, is it my imagination or are you hitting me more than usual lately?"

"It's your imagination," said Ban unrepentantly. They had managed to ditch the brat at the ratty apartment he was staying (most likely rented using the rewards of his thieving career) and were presently making their way to Honky Tonk to see if they could wheedle some breakfast out of the tightfisted café owner. "I could bloody well have woken up with a knife between my ribs thanks to you, _partner_."

Ban was still having difficulty believing that he had dropped his guard so much as to actually fall asleep with the brat right next to him. He was a survivalist, and one does not survive by falling asleep with potential hostiles nearby. His grandmother would somersault in her grave if she ever witnessed this incredibly stupid blunder of his. Since the day he spurned Maria's protection, the only people he had ever slept soundly with had been Himiko and her brother and, more recently, Ginji only. Having to use his Jagan thrice in rapid succession last night must have drained him more than he realized. That was the only logical explanation for his carelessness.

"Ryuji would never do such a thing!" said Ginji, sounding genuinely shocked by the implication. No surprise there, seeing how Ginji was always so quick to trust and so slow to believe his trust was misplaced despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. However, Ban was grateful for this trait of Ginji's that had allowed the blonde to stick by him for such a long time. Not even Himiko's warnings or, though Ban wasn't aware of it, Miroku's were able to drive Ginji away. "I think you're overreacting a little. Ryuji is a nice kid."

For reasons he would rather not think about too deeply, Ginji's quick defense of the brat ground on Ban's nerves like broken glass. "I can think of a thousand adjectives to describe that pain in the ass, Ginji," snapped Ban. "And 'nice' is definitely not one of them. In fact, 'nice' hurtles in the opposite direction of every word I would use to describe him."

Ginji frowned, clearly not pleased with the way he had chosen to label the brat. "I don't see how you could even suspect him of hurting you. You're the one who hits him all the time. It's never the other way round."

Ban swung his right hand in front of Ginji's face and waved his index finger about in an almost menacing manner. Ginji had to stop in his tracks to avoid having one of his eyes accidentally poked out. "Yeah? Then try explaining this."

Ginji's eyes tracked the waving finger nervously. "Explain what?"

"The cut on my finger, you nincompoop!" yelled Ban, focusing his ire on Ginji only because his intended target was out of range at the moment. "That pet dog of yours not only barks, but bites as well!"

"Ryuji did that to you?" Ginji's frown deepened. "When did this happen?"

"Just last night."

"What happened last night?" asked Ginji curiously.

"He…" Ban caught himself before he revealed more than he should. "Never mind." Saying anything more on the matter would only make Ginji ask more questions that he would much prefer not to answer. Ban deliberately avoided Ginji's eyes and dug into his breast pocket for a cigarette. Upon finding only an empty rumpled packet, he swore loudly. "Damn!"

Ginji smiled weakly at him. "I thought you went out to buy cigarettes last night."

Ban tried to school his features into one that didn't resemble guilt nailed to a wall. "Eh…" _Think, brain, think!_ "None of the vending machines were working and I couldn't find a grocery that was open at that hour." The lie sounded feeble even to his own ears. There had never been a shortage of 24/7 stores in Shinjuku; and no matter how dense Ginji may be, he could not possibly be ignorant of that fact.

"Ban-chan." Ginji sounded resigned rather than accusatory. "If I need to know something, you'll tell me, won't you?"

Ban was once again reminded why they worked so well as a team. "Of course." Ginji's implicit trust in him was more than what he deserved.

"Good. That's settled then." Ginji's smile widened. "Can we get going now? I'm really looking forward to that breakfast."

Shaking his head in amazement, Ban watched Ginji skip ahead of him with that childish exuberance which always made him feel decades older than his partner. However, he would not wish it to be any other way. Having seen and experienced first-hand the other side Ginji, the full dark, brooding intensity of Raitei, Ban had taken upon himself to make sure Ginji remained the way he was supposed to be. If it meant having to keep a few ugly secrets, so be it.

XXXXXX

The waiting room was crammed full of people of different ages and races, the only things common between them were their impaired health and desire to get better. The receptionist, whose duties also included managing the practice and performing in the capacity of a nurse, was busy registering one of the patients when the door swung open to admit a scruffy kid with a limp. The receptionist became slightly wary when she saw that there weren't any accompanying adults with him. The kid cast a dismissive glance at the crowd around him and proceeded to walk nonchalantly into the treatment room, shutting the door behind him with a distinctive click. The sheer audacity of the kid temporarily froze the receptionist, but outrage soon stirred her into action.

So the practice wasn't exactly located at the friendliest of neighborhoods and it wouldn't be the first time that their drug cupboard was raided. However, it was the first time she had seen riffraff from the streets going about it so blatantly in front of so many witnesses. Armed with righteous indignation as well as the baseball bat that she had kept hidden under the table, the receptionist marched towards the treatment room, determined to evict the young punk by force if necessary. She failed to notice the looks of trepidation she was drawing from the patients in the waiting room; and, frankly, she wouldn't have cared even if she had noticed. Her job was tough enough as it was without complications such as drug-addicts attempting to rob her employer right under her very nose. A highly effective deterrent was called for in such situations and she found, through experience, that the simple threat of imminent bodily harm spoke louder than any number of words of gentle persuasion.

After unlocking the door with one of the keys in her possession, the receptionist slowly stepped into the treatment room, her bat raised in preparation for either self-defense or intimidation. What she saw caused her to lower the baseball bat uncertainly. The kid had taken out only the antiseptic solution and wound dressings from the cupboards and was tending a punched-out wound in his right calf. Perspiration had caused the kid's black locks to cling to the sides of his face, and she could see that he was gritting his teeth in pain. The kid did not even look up when she entered, either because he was too engrossed in his task or because he had chosen to ignore her completely.

Feeling that it was up to her to break the silence, she issued her warning, "Who do you think you are! Barging in here like this and just helping yourself to whatever's on the shelves! If you don't leave this instant, I'll call…"

A calm, familiar voice brought a sudden halt to her outburst. "It's okay. I know the boy."

She turned around to find her employer, the sole practitioner of the clinic, standing behind her. The lanky man in the white coat had streaks of grey hair at his temples and an eye patch covering his left eye. "You… know this kid, Dr. Mikaido?"

"Yup," the doctor said simply. "So, you won't be needing that for now." He took the bat from her unresisting hands and leaned it against the wall. As his attention returned to the injured kid, the usual carefree smile on his face became strained. "Will you cease your amateurish efforts and stop wasting my supplies? You can't get a decent clean of that wound until you get some local injected into the area."

The insolent kid ignored the doctor as completely as he had ignored her earlier. Her fingers twitched with the urge to march forward and smack some manners into the kid, who reminded her too much of her own surly teenage son. Unaffected by the icy treatment he was getting, Dr. Mikaido went about getting the local anaesthetic ready and then approached the kid with the hypodermic syringe in his hand. Surprisingly, the kid did not protest or put up a fight when the doctor swatted his hands away and examined the wound more closely. "Keep still. This will sting a bit."

The kid winced when the needle penetrated his skin but made no sound. The kid remained so quiet throughout the doctor's friendly chatter and careful ministrations that she was beginning to wonder whether he was a mute.

"I really wish you would take better care of yourself. The bullet had missed the vital structures this time, but you might not be so lucky next time," said Dr. Mikaido, bandaging the thoroughly cleaned wound with an efficiency that came from years of experience. The doctor's expression turned wistful. "However, I'm glad that you're still willing to come to me for help. It has been a while since I've last seen you. How have you been?" When his question was met with utter silence, the doctor merely sighed. He taped the bandage in place and stood up. "Don't get up yet. I'm giving you an antibiotic as well as a tetanus booster shot just in case."

After the injections were given, the kid wasted no time getting up and moving towards the door. It was almost as if he couldn't get away fast enough.

"I've missed you," said Dr. Mikaido, causing the kid to pause in mid-step. "You can come and stay with me anytime, you know. If you want to."

The kid's face, like his dark eyes, was taut and unrevealing. The receptionist could not understand why the kid refused to acknowledge Dr. Mikaido at all. In the end, the kid left without saying anything.

"Who is that kid?" asked the receptionist, unable to hold back her curiosity any longer.

"He's my ward and nephew," said the doctor somewhat ruefully. "I'm afraid I haven't been a responsible guardian ever since I took him under my wing."

"With that attitude of his, I can easily understand why you're having difficulties with him. Is he… um… mute?"

"No." The doctor pulled off his latex gloves and threw them into a bin. "He just refuses to talk to me, that's all."

She helped to clear away the dirty bandages and iodine-soaked cotton gauze. "Why? Is he angry with you for some reason?"

"You can say that." The doctor absently raised a hand to touch his eye patch. "He would have been a happier kid if it hadn't been for me."

When she saw that her line of questioning was making the doctor increasingly sombre, she decided to change the subject. "Break's over, doctor. You've a waiting room full of patients clamouring for your attention right now."

Dr. Mikaido flashed her a grateful look before walking out of the treatment room. Soon after, she picked up her baseball bat and followed him. Sometimes, the maintenance of a relationship depends on the preservation of boundaries.

XXXXXX

"You blood-sucking scrooge!"

The howl was directed at the impassive smoking man behind the counter. "Oh yes, using one of your nicknames for Hevn on me is going a long way to convince me to ignore your tab."

"You know how excellent we are at our jobs! We can settle that 317, 270 yen debt easily once we complete any high-pay assignments that come our way."

"It's not your ability to complete assignments that I have doubts about."

A palm came down heavily on the counter, force kept in check so that no property damage was done. After the smashed wall incident, Paul was pleased to see that Ban had become more cautious in demonstrating his strength during his fits of rage. "It's not our fault that our clients refuse to pay us afterwards!"

"It's really aggravating when people owe you money but don't pay up, isn't it?"

"My point exac-" Ban's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Now what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means what you think it means," said Paul evenly. "I can't keep this business afloat if I keep on handing out free food and coffee. You two eat and drink enough for ten people."

Ban glowered at him. "We're not asking for free food like beggars! We're only asking that you put it on our tab so that we can pay for it later!"

"Ban-chan, Master does have a point." Ginji was attempting to fulfill his daily calorie requirement by consuming the sugar that was placed on the tables. Paul made a mental note to keep the sugar hidden from sight and dispense it only upon request by his customers henceforth. "Maybe we should come back after we get enough money to pay off the debt." Ginji's placating smile faltered when Ban's glower shifted from Paul to him.

"We wouldn't be in this position if we've gotten that one million yen from our last assignment! And whose fault was that?" Before Ginji could even open his mouth to speak, Ban raged on. "Yours! Yes, yours! And no! Don't tell me you're sorry! Being sorry doesn't do anything to fill our pockets or our stomachs! And will you stop hogging the sugar and hand me one of those bowls!"

Paul was almost moved to pity when he saw his two successors downing one mouthful of sugar after another, the sickly sweetness of pure sucrose eventually causing their faces to scrunch up in distaste. Almost. "Instead of whining about your current bankrupt state, why don't you two go out and do something about it?"

"Easy for you to say," grumbled Ban, granules of sugar flying from his mouth. "All you do is sit here in this air-conditioned café and expect customers to fall on your lap! We, on the other hand, actually have to stand outside and draw our customers under the blistering sun."

Paul rolled his eyes heavenward, the movement neatly hidden by his shades. "You should be thankful that I'm letting you use my air-conditioned café as a meeting place for your business dealings."

"You should be thankful that we're bringing in more business for you. Hey, come to think of it, you should be paying us commission…"

Paul blocked out the rest of what Ban had to say and concentrated on reading his newspaper instead. Hmm. The price of petrol had increased by another twenty yen per litre today. Transport costs would undoubtedly increase as a result. He wondered if he would need to increase the price of his coffees one day.

"… Are you even listening to me?" said Ban angrily.

"Nope," said Paul, taking a drag on his cigarette. "By the way, Himiko said she'd be coming in today to look for the two of you. Mentioned something about an antidote and how much you still owe…"

A panicked look seized Ban's features and he rounded on Ginji who was sitting next to him. "Enough of sitting around here whining, Ginji! Up, up, up! It's time to look for more work!"

"But I didn't-"

"Stop arguing with me and move!" Ban propelled Ginji out through the door with a firm shove to the back.

Paul took a moment to relish the peaceful silence that was restored to the Honky Tonk. He had met the famed Lady Poison only a few times, but he was starting to like her already. The beatific expression slid off his face when the phone chose that moment to ring.

XXXXXX

"Unfortunately, you've just missed them." The voice coming through the receiver had a weary tone to it. "They left here not long ago."

"Can you tell me where I can find them?" The man in the phone booth crushed the flyer he was holding in his gnarled hand without being aware of doing so.

"I don't normally keep track of their whereabouts. They could be anywhere in the city. Why don't you leave behind your number and I'll get them to call you when I see them?"

"No, I'd prefer to meet them face-to-face when I discuss my matters with them." The man unclenched his fist and smoothed out the wrinkles in the flyer. "When do you think they'll be back at the café?"

"My guess is sometime later today or maybe even tomorrow. As I've said, I don't keep track of their comings and goings."

"Thanks anyway. I'll try to get hold of them whenever I can then," said the man before hanging up.

Shortly after he stepped out of the booth, a woman's distressed shriek drew his attention to a young purse-snatcher heading towards him. While the other pedestrians scrambled hastily to get out of the way, the man remained still and held out his walking stick before him.

A knife flashed menacingly in the one of the purse-snatcher's hands. "Get out of my way, old-"

No one at the scene could give a clear account of what happened next. Even the purse-snatcher, who was the directly involved party, could not explain how he was running on flat ground one second and dangling from a nearby tree branch the next. Perhaps the only person who could shed some light on the matter was the mysterious old man who had been standing less than five feet away from the purse-snatcher when it happened, but he was nowhere to be found for questioning.

XXXXXX

Ryuji didn't want to be here. His leg was still sore; there was still a crick in his neck from his awkward sleeping position the previous night; and worst of all, he was forced into a position where he had to behave civilly towards the people around him. If he was to say 'Irasshaimase' one more time in an artificially jovial voice, he would throw up. Why, oh why, had he allowed that perky waitress to dupe him into this?

"Here's the skinny latte for number two, and three glasses of iced tea for number seven." Ryuji silently took the tray of drinks that was pushed into his hands. "And don't forget to smile." Ryuji could tell that the man in the apron enjoyed torturing him like this.

The smile Ryuji plastered on his face was frozen and fake, almost painful to look at, and looked more like a frown turned upside down.

"On second thought, maybe you should go back to looking the way you were before," said the man in the apron. "Just try to look a little less murderous this time, okay?"

Ryuji did not find the jibe amusing in the least. "Hey, I didn't agree to this! My agreement with that girl-"

"Her name's Natsumi. Mizuki Natsumi."

"I don't care what her name is! The thing is that I've never agreed to serve any customers! I thought I was only supposed to… I dunno… clean dishes or something."

"You've agreed to take over my assistant's job for the rest of her shift. And that, my boy, involves serving customers. Now get going before that coffee turns cold."

Ryuji shambled away with the drinks in his hands, sulking all the way. When he returned to the counter for the next round of drinks to be distributed, the man in the apron dropped a pair of rubber gloves onto his tray.

Ryuji looked up at the man with uncomprehending eyes. "What's the meaning of this?"

"You should've told me that you're hurt. Why don't you go and do some washing at the sink while I handle…"

Bristling like an offended cat, Ryuji snarled, "So what if I'm hurt? You think I can't even do something as easy as serving drinks in my present condition?" Ryuji swept the gloves off the tray and started piling steaming cups of coffee on it. "Which tables do these go to?"

The man in the apron looked like he was about to say something else but Ryuji's stubborn, challenging stare convinced him to change his mind. "Two short blacks and one hot chocolate for number eight. The rest are for number twelve."

The next two hours passed in a flurry of activity for Ryuji. He refused to slow down even when his wound started to throb. It took the man in the apron several tries to finally persuade him to take up his dishwashing duties. At that time, the last of the customers had left and Ryuji reluctantly conceded that there was more washing to be done than serving.

He was about to begin the washing when the man in the apron stopped him. "You can do that later. Sit down and have a cup of coffee with me first."

Ryuji saw that there were two cups of coffee set out on the counter. "I'd rather finish this…"

"Those dirty cups and saucers aren't going anywhere. Sit. You've been working non-stop since you came in; you're making me look like a slave driver."

Ryuji decided to take up the offer, as it would give him the chance to rest his leg. Not that he needed the rest, of course. The aroma of the coffee that wafted into his nostrils was one that he was not familiar with despite having served practically every single coffee on the menu that evening.

The man in the apron chuckled. "This coffee is called Blue Mountain, in case you're wondering. I only make it on special occasions; for friends, old and new."

Ryuji made no move to touch the cup. "How much are you charging for it?" he asked, deliberately misinterpreting the gesture of friendship.

There was a brief pause before the man in the apron responded, "You don't like to accept gifts from strangers, do you?"

"Yes." He had no qualms about stealing from strangers though; especially filthy rich ones who wouldn't know how to use their money wisely anyway.

"That problem is easily solved." The man in the apron extended his hand over the counter. "Hi, I'm Wan Paul. Pleased to meet you."

Ryuji ignored the proffered handshake. "Stop being ridiculous."

The hand did not waver. "You're the one being ridiculous here. It's only a cup of coffee I'm offering you, and this is just a handshake."

Ryuji eyed the café owner's hand as if it was diseased. "If I drink the coffee, will you keep that hand to yourself?"

"I'm not contagious."

"Look, I've agreed to drink your damned coffee already," growled Ryuji in exasperation. "What more do you want from me?"

"Well, more appreciation of my personally brewed coffee, for a start." Wan Paul finally withdrew his rejected hand. "But I suppose we should take things slowly, one step at a time."

Ryuji stirred four teaspoons of sugar into his coffee before lifting the cup to his lips. He found himself wishing that the coffee tasted horrid so that he would have another reason to snap at the man in front of him. He was dreadfully disappointed. "This actually doesn't taste too disgusting," said Ryuji generously.

If Wan Paul was upset by his comment, he gave no indication of it. "I'm amazed that you can even taste the coffee after you've added in all that sugar. You really should try it without sugar one day."

Ryuji studied Wan Paul quietly as he took a second sip. "You know, in some ways, you remind me a lot of Amano Ginji."

Wan Paul's eyebrows lifted in amusement. "And in some ways, you remind me a lot of Mido Ban."

Predictably, Ryuji choked on his drink. He gasped, wheezed and clawed at his throat as he tried to expel the hot liquid that had gone down the wrong tube. When he recovered, he lifted his head to glare at the older man with the stern ferocity of an executioner. "Don't. You. Ever. Say. That. Again," Ryuji warned. "Ever."

Wan Paul shrugged. "I'm merely voicing my observations."

"Do me a favour and keep your goddamned observations to yourself!" snapped Ryuji, his temper fraying. Ugh! The nerve of that man to even suggest such a preposterous thing! He's nothing like Porcupine-head! Nothing!

The jangle of bells that accompanied the opening of the café door cut off Ryuji's internal screams of denial.

_Tap. _

The sound of a metallic stick striking the hard polished surface of the floor was loud in the suddenly quiet café. Instinctively, Ryuji's whole body began to tense up and tremble. His heartbeat quickened and pounded in his ears. _Danger._ That was what he sensed coming from the person approaching him from the side. His hand inconspicuously reached for the switchblade he had concealed in an inner pocket of his jacket. Ryuji kept his eyes carefully focused straight ahead at Wan Paul, who mirrored the grave look on his face. Neither of them said anything or moved as the person who had entered the café walked towards them.

"Fancy meeting you here again, kid."

Ryuji recognized that voice, and there was no more doubt in his mind as to who the person was. Escape was impossible and any resistance on his part would be futile, if not suicidal, but he could at least try to draw the danger away from Wan Paul. Without turning his head, he flung the cup he was holding in his left hand at the wizened man before leaping off the barstool and sprinting towards the exit. He couldn't risk getting too close to the man to attempt a stab; so he threw his knife instead, aiming for the thigh. There was a clang of metal hitting metal behind him, informing him that his knife had been deflected, which didn't surprise him. He knew that it was a long shot anyway. Ryuji's fingers almost brushed the doorknob before the back of his head exploded in pain and the world turned black around him.

XXXXXX

"Stay back," commanded the old man, holding up the boy's limp body by the neck with one hand. His other hand held his walking stick parallel to the ground in a battle stance.

Paul assumed his most harmless-looking manner as he continued to take small steps towards the old man. "Oh, come on. You can hardly consider me a threat, can you? Not with the abilities you have."

The old man tightened his grip on the boy's neck and Paul froze immediately. "Most people don't consider me a threat as well, and you can see how wrong they are."

"You were the caller asking for the Get Backers earlier, weren't you?" asked Paul, his face hardening with impotent fury.

"Yes," said the old man. "And you must be the owner of this place who took my call."

"If you're after the Get Backers, why are you targeting this boy?" Paul demanded. "He has nothing to do with them."

"One of the Get Backers also said the same thing to me last night. I didn't believe him then, and I don't believe you now." The old man draped the boy over one of his shoulders with ease, his shrunken frame belying his strength. "I'll call again to set a time and place for them to meet me. Don't worry. No harm will come to this boy as long as they accede to my request."

At that moment, the door opened again and a petite tanned woman stepped into the scene.

XXXXXX

Two suspicious-looking figures were seen hiding behind a vehicle that was parked near the Honky Tonk café. Occasionally, one of them would stick his head out to cast a furtive glance through the glass window of the café before quickly ducking out of sight.

"Damn it, I can't get a good view at this angle. We have to move closer," said the darker-haired of the two.

"I don't see why we have to sneak around like this," said his mildly self-conscious companion. "Even if Himiko is inside…"

"Before you say anything more along those lines, tell me why we're hiding from her in the first place."

"Er… Because we owe her money?"

"Yes, and why do we owe her money?"

"Because… of me?"

"Yes. So, that makes it…?" The unfinished sentence hung in the air.

"My fault?" squeaked Ginji.

"Good. I'm glad you understand," said Ban as they scuttled behind another car- one that offered them a better view of the Honky Tonk's interior.

"It still doesn't make sense for us to avoid Himiko but not Master. We owe both of them money, don't we?"

"Can we not debate about this right now?" said Ban irritably. "It's now your turn to check and see if that vixen is there."

Ginji raised part of his head above the hood of the car and peered into the café. He saw the person whom he was supposed to look out for, but he also noticed other things. Overturned chairs. Broken tables. Unmistakable signs of a battle. A feeling of unease came over him. "Ban-chan…"

"What? Is Himiko in there?"

"Yes, but-"

"Get down then, you baka!" hissed Ban, grabbing Ginji by the collar and forcing him to the ground.

"No… Something's wrong!" Ginji stood up suddenly, startling Ban into releasing his grip, and rushed into the café.

Cursing a mean streak, Ban followed suit. His cursing stopped when he saw what had caused Ginji to behave the way he did. Ginji was trying to find out what had happened from a lightly bandaged Himiko and a solemn Paul, the blonde's agitation making his words barely coherent. Ban caught sight of something familiar glinting on the floor and picked it up.

"… just suddenly attacked…"

"… no, I've never met this guy before…"

"… why was Ryuji…"

As he retracted the blade of the flick knife in his hand, Ban interjected, "Was it an old man who took the brat away?"

The other three people in the cafe stopped talking and turned towards him in surprise. It was Paul who finally answered. "Yes."

Ban rubbed his fatigued eyes. He could tell that it was going to be another long night.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Author's note:** I apologize for this extremely late update. Writing this story has become increasingly difficult for me, but I'm not giving up yet. And to show that I haven't given up on this fic, I've put up this chapter despite misgivings about its quality and its content (e.g. evil cliffhanger, highly contrived scenes, new characters that come and go faster than you can blink). Any feedback is welcomed. Thanks Atropos' Knife, for pointing out to me that the Jagan is a technique that drains its user significantly. I hope I have managed to acknowledge this fact in this chapter. Once again, I wish to thank Bahaghari for her gracious help in proofreading this chapter for me. I like to respond to each reviewer personally; so do leave behind an email address or some means for me to get hold of your email address (e.g. by logging in when you review) if you want me to reply to you :) Thanks for reading.


	5. New Mission

(Standard disclaimers apply)

**The Wake**

_5. New Mission_

It was shaping up to be one of those days that Kudo Himiko wished she had stayed indoors instead. Past experience should have taught her not to actively seek out the two losers before her, whose insurmountable curse of bad luck often had the tendency to suck innocent bystanders into their messy problems. She should have just forgotten the debt they owed her and spared herself a whopping big headache from nearly having her skull stove in by a metal rod. And all she did was step into their favourite haunt! Not appreciating the fact that everyone else except her knew who her attacker was, she demanded, "Can someone explain to me why some grandpa whom I've never even met before tonight wanted to bash my head in?" Her accusatory glare settled on Ban. "What did you do this time, Ban?"

Ban glared back at her indignantly. "You little minx! What makes you think I've anything to do with this!"

"You're the only person who isn't surprised by all this," said Himiko, observing Ban's face closely. Her efforts were rewarded by a glimpse of chagrined expression that flitted briefly across his face— so briefly that she would've missed it if she hadn't been looking out for it. "You know who was responsible before either Paul or I had the chance to tell you what happened. An old man, you said. My question to you is how do you know?"

"It's an educated guess," said Ban haughtily. "Pardon me for having more brain cells than the rest of you put together."

Himiko's fingers itched for the scent bottles strapped to her back as she fought down the urge to transform Ban into either a roasted crisp or a Neanderthal. No, wait, the insufferable man was already a Neanderthal. That could explain why that particular perfume never seem to have much of an effect on him when she had used it on him in the past. "You know this old man, Ban?"

Ban cast a meaningful glance at his partner. "Ginji knows him better than me."

"I do?" said Ginji in surprised tones.

"You mean you still haven't figured it out?" A trace of impatience crept into Ban's voice. "Who else is capable of injuring Himiko and yet has a reason to abduct that brat? Who else has a mighty grudge against the Get Backers, especially after yesterday?"

"But it could've been anyone who's after Ryuji and not…"

"No," interrupted Paul. "That man is after the two of you. I believe he's using the boy merely to get your attention."

Ginji's face took on a stricken expression as the words sank in. "That means it's because of us that…" The stricken expression was soon replaced by one of hard determination. Ginji pivoted and strode towards the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" asked Ban, making no move to follow the blond retrieval agent.

Ginji stopped in mid-stride but did not turn around. "I know you don't have any reason to help Ryuji out, Ban-chan, so—"

"Damn right I don't," growled Ban. "I warned you that the brat would be nothing but trouble, didn't I? If you've gotten rid of him like I've told you to at the very beginning, none of this would've happened."

"You're right, Ban-chan." Ginji's hands curled into fists at his sides. "That is precisely why I have to bring Ryuji back safely. He is my responsibility."

"And how are you planning to do that, you mor—" Perhaps realizing that his inflammatory words would do little to cool down Ginji's hotheadedness, Ban tactfully moderated his language. "Running up and down the streets wouldn't achieve anything. You don't even know where they are."

"But I can't just sit around here and do nothing!"

"Sitting around here and waiting may be the only course of action you have at the moment," said Paul quietly. "He said he'll call back to arrange a meeting with you two."

There was something underlying Paul's outward calm that set Himiko's teeth on edge. Something that made her think of a dormant volcano dangerously close to erupting and wiping out whole cities. She shook the feeling off as soon as it came, mentally chiding herself for being so paranoid. The mild-mannered café owner had never given the impression of being _dangerous_ before, and she just couldn't picture him in that light, even after tonight's incident.

"Oh yes, let us give the old guy sufficient time to set the traps and prepare the noose for our necks, shall we?" grumbled Ban. "I, for one, am not so keen to risk my neck on such a thankless and profitless task. Give me one good reason why I should care about what happens to that bratty little cretin…"

"I can give you 317, 270 reasons," interjected Paul.

"…who serves as much purpose as a thorn in the backsi…" Ban's ears finally caught up with his mouth and he sputtered. "What did… Did you just… Did I just hear you…?"

Paul smiled humourlessly at a puzzled Ginji and a speechless Ban. "I'll forget about your tab if you two bring back my dishwashing boy. How about that?"

Understanding finally erased the puzzled look from Ginji's face and replaced it with that of deep gratitude. "Paul-san. Even if you haven't offered…"

Ban still had enough presence of mind to fly towards Ginji and silence him abruptly with a chokehold. The possibility of gaining wealth had always been effective in stirring Ban into action. More effective still was the possibility of losing it. Ban stared at the café owner with a studious, almost suspicious, look.

"Well, are you taking the assignment or not?" asked Paul in mild tones, seemingly unperturbed by Ban's intense scrutiny.

Ban eased his hold slightly to allow Ginji to regain a few whistling breaths through his throat, letting go completely only when he was satisfied that Ginji wouldn't interrupt him while he dealt with Paul. "Why?" Ban asked finally.

"Why what?"

"Why aren't you behaving like the parsimonious bastard you usually are?" Paul noticeably frowned upon hearing this but Ban was too obnoxious to care. "Why are you willing to fork out so much money for that brat's return? You, the same person who had knowingly starved me without a second thought this morning."

Paul steadily met Ban's stare for a few moments. Himiko could just imagine him thinking '_For one thing, the kid had a much lovelier personality than you. In comparison.'_ What Paul said instead was "As I've said, he's my dishwashing boy. And there are dishes lying about that need to be washed."

"I demand a real answer, dammit! I know for a fact that it couldn't possibly be the brat's charm that is making you act so weirdly. That prickly punk doesn't have any."

"Definitely alike," muttered Paul cryptically.

"What?" snapped Ban, positive that he had just been insulted but not quite sure how.

"I… Look, why do I need to convince you to take up the job? You've never required any of your clients to reveal their reasons for wanting something to be retrieved."

"I want to make sure that the kid hasn't hexed or brainwashed you somehow. I can't think of any other plausible reason for your offer."

Paul finally gave in to Ban's persistence. "Are you familiar with the tale about a boy who selflessly donated his blood to save his sister's life? The boy mistakenly believed that he would die as a result, but he still agreed to have his blood taken for the transfusion."

"One of those urban myths?" Ban scowled. "Why are we wasting time talking about them now?"

"It could be a myth or a true story, but that isn't the point. The point I'm getting at is that the boy's ignorance revealed his courage and self-sacrifice. You can't help but respect that in such a person."

"So… you 're telling me that you respect stupidity in a person." Ban sounded confused. "I don't see how this is relevant to our discussion."

"If only you'd _listen_ instead of… Oh, the hell with it," said Paul with uncharacteristic brusqueness. Himiko couldn't blame him. Ban's chafing nature could make a saint swear like ten drunken sailors. "Are you taking the job? Yes or no?"

"Of course we are!" declared Ginji loudly before Ban could respond. "You can count on us to bring Ryuji back!" Ginji was either completely oblivious to, or wisely choosing to ignore, the dirty look from his partner.

"It's settled then." A bit of the tension Himiko detected earlier left Paul's shoulders as the deal was sealed.

"Don't worry, Paul-san," said Ginji reassuringly. Not surprising that the empathic retrieval agent was able to sense Paul's hidden concern for the kidnapped boy. "The Get Backers' retrieval success rate is nearly a hundred percent, so—"

Ginji was cut off by a loud wallop to the top of his head. "Not _nearly_ a hundred percent, you fool! A hundred percent! How many times do I have to coach you on this?" Ban grouched. His eyes shifted back to Paul. "The money changes nothing. We still don't know where the brat is and I still have no intention of walking blindly into an ambush if that old geezer does decide to set up a meeting."

"Are you scared, Ban?" Himiko taunted. Oh, she knew she was baiting him, fully aware that Ban's humongous ego would never allow him to back down from a challenge. There wasn't anything in it for her and she hardly even knew the boy who was taken. However, there was no denying that the boy had succeeded admirably in getting under Ban's skin and pissing him off in a major way. And _that_, Himiko decided, made him worth his weight in gold. It was only fair that Ban gets a taste of his own medicine, and Himiko would do what she could to make sure he gets it.

"Don't you start," warned Ban, shaking a finger at her. "This doesn't concern you."

Himiko's mouth pressed into a thin line. "It would concern me if I can pinpoint to you the exact location of the kid, wouldn't it?" Her statement was greeted by astounded looks from the three men before her. Once she was sure that she had their full attention, she continued. "Two words…"

"Trace perfume," interrupted Ban, whose above-average deductive skills once again made itself known.

Himiko frowned, slightly annoyed that her moment in the spotlight had been snatched away from her. "Yes. I've poured a generous amount of it over the old man and the kid when I was being attacked. Your nose shouldn't have any trouble picking up the scent trail."

Ban grinned at her, the unspoken praise subtly written on his countenance. Himiko found it difficult to hold onto her annoyance when Ban looked at her like that. Most of the time, Ban treated her like a little girl that needed to be babysat; and it was gratifying to be able to prove to Ban how much she had grown, to show him the competent and professional woman she had become. To her consternation, she felt a blush threatening to break out on her cheeks and she ruthlessly forced it down through sheer willpower alone.

"Not bad, midget," conceded Ban, the grin degenerating into his usual smirk. "Not bad at all. You've certainly made our job a lot easier."

_Midget!_ Granted, that derogatory term wasn't much worse than 'minx', but still! Himiko felt her cheeks heat up, the flush now having nothing to do with... whatever the hell it was a moment ago... and everything to do with anger. "Why, thanks for the compliment, Ban," she said with glacial coldness. "You know how much I care about your opinions of me." Himiko pitched the words with sarcasm thick enough to drown out the tiniest grain of truth in them.

Ginji, ever the peacemaker, tried to defuse the situation with a well-timed distraction. Pulling her into a tight embrace that would have normally earned him a vicious kick if she hadn't been so surprised, Ginji gushed happily, "I knew you'd make a great retrieval agent one day, Himiko-chan! Thankyouthankyouthankyou." She briefly considered and discarded several of her choice methods of prying the energetic blond off her; all of them highly effective but unfortunately too painful for her conscience to give her the go ahead. She was spared the dilemma when Ginji finally released her and turned towards Ban. "Ban-chan?" There was a pleading note in his voice.

Apparently, Ban had no trouble reading his partner's mind. There were times when Himiko wondered if they shared some form of telepathic link between them. "You really do care about what happens to that thorny twerp, don't you?" He let out a long, suffering sigh. "Fine. I'll come along to make sure you don't get into too much trouble. Just keep in mind that I'm getting myself involved in this hideous business for your sake only. Not the brat. Never the brat."

Paul scratched his chin thoughtfully. "If that's the case, can I have my—"

"**And** the money," said Ban quickly to eliminate any potential dispute about the matter. "Always the money."

XXXXXX

After his many years of loyal service to his master, the servant thought he had seen enough that nothing could faze him. Quite often, his master would come back with thick splatters of dried blood on his coat and this would generate no more response from him than an exasperated sigh and a petulant complaint about the difficulty of removing such stains from the fabric. He complained considerably less after discovering that salt water worked remarkably well. Occasionally, his master would bring his 'work' home- something the servant secretly wished he'd do less of, or stop entirely- and it would be his duty to ensure that the captive was securely bound and locked up somewhere out of sight until such a time when the captive's presence was required again. He never asked who the captives were or the reasons as to why they were allowed to live when so many of his master's assigned targets were not. Usually these captives were kept alive only long enough for certain desired information to be wrenched out of them. Torture still made him queasy. It was something he could never get used to, but the master had been mercifully understanding of this failing of his and had never forced him to participate in these acts. To make up for it, the servant would take on the chore of cleaning up and disposing of the bodies afterwards.

Despite his knowledge of what kind of man his master was and what his master's occupation entailed, it still came as a surprise when he saw the latest captive his master had brought back.

"Welcome home, sir," said the servant in automatic, but no less sincere, greeting. Once he took care of his master's coat (not blood-stained this time he was pleased to note), his troubled eyes were once again drawn to the unconscious child his master had deposited on the floor. The young boy looked so pale, almost sickly, and for a moment he feared that it was a corpse and not a living body that lay at his feet. "What should I do with him, sir?"

His master's reply was terse. "The usual."

He never asked, because it was his way of emotionally detaching himself from his master's captives. He couldn't care, because he would not be able to perform his duty otherwise. But the sight of the helpless child stirred something within him— a measure of pity, or maybe a kindness that was always there but which had been irreversibly battered over the years. "Sir. May I ask why you brought this boy here?"

"He's bait." His master, who had appeared more haggard and haunted since yesterday for some unknown reason, failed to notice his unusual display of curiosity. "That's all you need to know for now, Kisae."

"Yes, sir." The servant lifted the boy up in his arms, oddly relieved by his master's answer. "Do you wish to have your dinner or take a bath first, sir? I've prepared…"

"I can take care of myself. Just concentrate on the task I've hired you for. The rest aren't that important."

"Yes, sir."

Rubbing his face tiredly, his master asked, "How is she today?"

"Lady Yuuko's condition seems to be marginally better today, sir. She is somewhat aware of her surroundings and she has even indicated to me that she wants to spend some time in the garden."

"She spoke to you?" His master's voice was plaintive, tinged with desperate hope.

"No, sir." The servant mentally kicked himself for his thoughtless act of cruelty. "She gestures, sir, and I can tell that she felt happier when I brought her to the garden."

His master's shoulders drooped. "One day, you're going to have to tell me how you can sense these moods of hers when all I can get from her is nothing. Nothing at all."

"The difference is more obvious to me only because I spend more time with her, sir."

"You don't need to cheer me up, Kisae," said his master with a wry smile. "It's not in your job description to make me feel good about myself."

"I didn't mean to—"

His master waved him away impatiently. "Don't let me detain you. See to the kid first. I'll let you know if I need you for anything else."

Without another word, the servant bowed and left. With the motionless boy as a light weight in his arms, he manoeuvred through the corridors and took the steps leading down to the cellar. The cellar was chosen as the lockup area partly because of its concealed location, but mainly for its optimum soundproofing. His master had no wish to distress Lady Yuuko unduly.

As he placed the boy in the chair at the center of the room, he debated the necessity of applying the shackles. In the end, he decided to leave the boy unbound, convinced that no harm would arise from giving the boy some degree of comfort.

It was a decision that he would come to regret immensely soon afterwards.

XXXXXX

"Jeez, would you stop worrying already?"

With his eyes focused on the road, Ban had to rely on his peripheral vision to see Ginji turn away from the passenger window to look at him. "But I didn't say anything," replied the blond, breaking the silence that had filled the Ladybug since their search began.

"Your face is an open book easily read by anyone who isn't blind. Also, I can bloody well hear you _thinking_ over there." Ban's tone was sharp. "It's distracting."

"Sorry, Ban-chan." Ginji shifted in his seat, his anxiety making it difficult for him to sit still. "I can't do anything besides worrying at a time like this. I can't even be of any help to you, seeing how I can neither detect Himiko's perfume nor drive the car."

"As if I'd let you drive, baka. No one is allowed behind this steering wheel except me, got it?"

"Yes, Ban-chan." Ginji resumed staring out of the window.

So much for his attempt to distract Ginji from his self-berating thoughts. It went against Ban's nature to spout sappy words of comfort, but he'd give it his best shot just so that he wouldn't have to put up with the stifling silence from his normally boisterous partner. "The brat is going to be fine."

Ginji turned his gaze back towards him again, this time with a small, grateful smile on his face. "How can you be so sure?"

"If the geezer wanted to kill the brat, he wouldn't go through all that trouble of kidnapping him. He'll keep the brat alive until he gets what he wants."

"That's what I can't figure out, Ban-chan. What does he want from us?"

_Our lives. Revenge. Reward._ "Whatever it is, he's not getting it," said Ban, keeping his speculations to himself. "We'll find out what his game is after we retrieve the brat. The mission comes first." Ginji chuckled at that, causing Ban to furrow his brow uncertainly. "Did I say something funny?"

"No, it's nothing," said Ginji, grinning widely.

"Spill it, Ginji. I'm not in the mood to guess what's going through that spiky head of yours."

"It's just that you sounded… concerned, Ban-chan." Ginji hurriedly continued before Ban could begin bellowing out his denial. "Wait, wait, I know you're going to refute it and I know you're going to insist that you're doing it only for the money."

"I **am** doing it only for the money! Don't you dare make it out to be anything more than that!"

Ginji patted his shoulder in an unvoiced 'there, there' fashion. "Your secret is safe with me, Ban-chan."

"You're not listening to me! Haven't I made it clear that—"

"Incoming truck at three o'clock!" Ginji shouted, suddenly wide-eyed.

Ban applied the brakes so hard that both of them were jolted out of their seats, the seatbelts digging in deep enough to bruise. They were so close that the Ladybug shook when the truck rushed past in front of them with horns blaring. Thoroughly shaken by the near-death experience, neither of them could speak for a while.

"Um… Maybe I should just go back to staring out of the window quietly, shouldn't I?" offered Ginji.

"You'd better," said Ban hoarsely, too frazzled to recommence their argument.

XXXXXX

It was dark. Dark like midnight, like black ink, like old blood. They were hiding in a cramped place. A cupboard? A trunk? An underground room? Wherever it was, he remembered that it was cramped. Cramped because someone else was in there with him. He could hear screams coming from a distance; screams that could only be torn out of someone in pure agony. He wanted to identify the owner of those screams, but firm hands were pressed against his ears, muffling and distorting the screams.

_Someone whispered in his ear. "Everything's going to be fine." _

_It was a lie, he knew. He could hear the fear and uncertainty in that soft voice. He could hear the pain, as if each one of those distant screams was a direct blow to the person who was trying to comfort him. He reached out to grasp a larger, clammy hand in his own. He was too scared to make any sound. _

"_I will keep you safe," said that same soothing voice full of pain. "I will protect you."_

_Then the doors opened and a shaft of blinding light streamed in. He tilted his head up to catch a glimpse of the person who made that promise to him. The person whose hand he was holding in a death grip._

_A guileless face with brown eyes and golden spiky locks looked down at him. Even as he processed this information, there was a part of his mind that perceived the wrongness of the situation. No, it can't be him. It can't be him because the person who held him in the dark looked nothing like him. The person in the dark looked like…_

Ryuji gasped as he returned to consciousness, his body trembling. He sat up quickly and immediately regretted it. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut to minimize the nauseating wave of vertigo that hit him. His head felt like a hippopotamus had danced a jig on it. Carefully touching the knot of pain at the back of his skull, he was relieved to find that his scalp was still intact, judging from the absence of sticky matted hair. Damn, that old guy could really swing his stick. He was lucky not to have been blinded by the concussion. He cracked open an eye and studied his surroundings.

The chair he was sitting on was bolted to the floor. It had wide leather straps which, strangely enough, had not been used to secure his arms and legs. The pragmatic side of him wanted to celebrate this good fortune of his whereas the proud side of him was miffed and even a bit offended. So he looked so harmless that he wasn't even worth the trouble of tying up, was he?

The room was small, bare and windowless. All the walls, the door and even the ceiling were padded. The discovery that the room was designed not to let even sound escape made his flesh crawl. As Ryuji stood up and walked across the floor, he could not help noticing that a small gully ran down the length of it, leading to a drain. The smell of disinfectant and air freshener was heavy in the air, and that in itself was a giveaway of what kind of odours were being deliberately concealed. Stilling the twist of sickness in his gut, he turned his attention to the locked door that was his only way out. He searched his pockets and was pleased, as well as insulted, to find that his captor hadn't even bothered to frisk him. In the back pocket of his jeans was a bunch of keys that looked perfectly ordinary but were anything but. What kind of a thief would he be without the tools of his trade? Because time wasn't that big a factor, he took to his task slowly, taking care not to create too much noise. His only worry was that his efforts would all be for naught if the door had been padlocked on the other side. He needn't have worried. After he managed to pick the lock, the heavy door opened easily to his pull on the door handle.

When he saw that no one was placed outside to guard him, he grew bolder and crept out of the room. Dim light that seeped through the floorboards above him guided his steps as he made his way to a flight of stairs that led up to a trapdoor. Ryuji paused near the top of the stairs and waited, listening out for any sound that would alert him to the presence of people directly above him.

His heart was racing and it took effort to keep his breathing quiet, rapid and shallow as it was. He was ashamed to discover that he was feeling scared, his old fears magnifying his current one and driving him to a state of near-panic. He was resigned to the fact that no one would help him; that he could only rely on himself to get out of the situation he was in alive. Harbouring whimsical and unrealistic hopes of rescue was not only foolish, but dangerous as well.

Once he regained a modicum of control over his fear, he took a deep calming breath and pushed up against the trapdoor. Luck was still on his side, for there was no resistance to his push and the kitchen he found himself in was deserted. He climbed the rest of the way up and closed the trapdoor softly behind him. So far, so good.

Ryuji nearly leapt out of his skin when he heard a soft tap coming from a short distance away. While he was frenziedly scanning the room for a possible hiding place, he heard the tap again. This time, with a calmer state of mind, he was able to discern that the tapping sounded suspiciously like a piece of bamboo striking rock, accompanied by sounds of trickling water. If he hadn't been so intent on keeping quiet, he would've laughed harshly at his skittishness over a damned water feature.

With the sounds as his guide, he headed towards the garden. Gardens meant an open space and the possibility of escape over a fence. An open space also meant a higher risk of being discovered, but it was a risk he was willing to take.

XXXXXX

Ban brought the Ladybug to a complete stop and switched off the engine. "This is the place. The trail ends here."

The spiky-haired duo looked across the street at the double-storeyed house surrounded by a high wire fence. They were at the residential area of one of the richer suburban towns; so very different from the violent and crime-ridden neighbourhoods they had both grown up in. Ginji was slightly taken aback by what he saw, his mind finding it difficult to link the image of peaceful normality before him with that of the supposed sinister-looking hideout of Ryuji's kidnapper.

"Is Ryuji in there?"

"As far as I can tell, the scents haven't diverged." Ban shrugged. "There's no reason to believe that the brat and the old man aren't together in that house."

"So all we have to do now is get inside, find Ryuji and get back out without alarming anyone if we can," said Ginji.

Ban snorted amusedly. "Any thoughts on how we're going to achieve that?"

There was a period of contemplative silence. Ban imagined that he could hear the cogwheels turning and grinding in Ginji's head as he attempted to hatch up a plan. "Sushi delivery?" Ginji managed at last.

"It didn't work the last time we tried that, remember?" Ban really didn't like to think about that previous retrieval mission which saw him being carved up by Miroku, being put at the mercy of the likes of Jackal and, worst of all, being rescued by a certain repugnant Beastmaster. "I'm pretty sure that our cover will be blown the minute the old man answers the door. He'll definitely know that he hasn't ordered any sushi and he'll have no trouble recognizing us."

"Us? But, Ban-chan, he hasn't met you before… has he?" Ginji cocked his head to one side curiously. "Come to think of it, how you did know that the person who attacked me yesterday was an old man? Did Ryuji tell you that?"

"When I said 'us', I meant you, idiot!" retorted Ban, completely poker-faced. "Forget about subterfuge. I say we barge in, grab the brat, and beat up anyone who gets in our way." Ban found that simple and brutal solutions were often the best. The language of the fist is universal. "If we move fast, the old man wouldn't get the opportunity to use the brat as a hostage and complicate matters."

"That's not much of a plan, Ban-chan," said Ginji reproachfully.

"You insist on having a plan?"

There was a tone in Ban's voice which suggested that Ginji should think carefully before giving his answer. Ginji took the plunge. "Yes, I insist."

Which was why Ginji found himself scaling the wire fence all by his lonesome five minutes later.

"Ban-chan…" implored Ginji, his voice almost a puppy-dog whine.

"Shush. You're supposed to do this stealthily."

"But why am I the only one—"

"Didn't you see the warning sign near the gate? This is a high-voltage electric fence! Unlike you, I don't possess the constitution of an electric eel. Just get to the other side and knock out the power mains so that I can join you shortly."

Ginji had no choice but to continue climbing and it wasn't long before he finally landed on the soft turf on the other side of the fence. Then the infamous Get Backers' luck reared its ugly head. Ginji's feet had barely touched the ground before he heard menacing growls behind him. Filled with dread, he turned around and was confronted by three Dobermans with bared, sharp teeth and raised hackles. They hadn't pounced yet, so Ginji thought he could try neutralizing their hostility with a warm and friendly manner. After all, he never had any problems getting along with Shido's animal companions. "Nice doggy…er, I mean, doggies."

If anything, the words seemed to prompt the dogs to attack. Being rushed from three directions simultaneously with no place to run to, Ginji was forced to discharge his power. He was mindful to adjust the amount of electricity to a level that would only knock out, and not kill, the ferocious canines. With one hand grabbing onto the electric fence, he drew from the external source of energy so that none of his own was expended. His attempt at stealth was shot to hell when one of the dogs managed to withstand his blast without passing out and yelped noisily as it ran off, shocked and confused.

"Who's there?" The voice that rang out of the house was chilling in its intensity and spoke of veiled murderous intent.

Ginji whirled around and waved his arms about frantically. "What should I do now?"

Ban was watching the door of the house attentively. "Don't worry. Everything's still going according to plan."

Ginji wished he shared the same confidence as his dark-haired partner. "I thought the plan was for me to shut the power down before…" There was a creak as the main door swung open behind him. In the blink of an eye, Ban had vanished and was soon becoming a mere speck in the distance. "Ban-chan!"

Ban's voice was faint as it drifted back to him. "Stall him! Show no mercy and you'll be fine!"

In his heart, Ginji knew that Ban would never leave him if he didn't believe that he was capable of handling the situation on his own. However, it was still disconcerting to be abandoned so suddenly without any forewarning whatsoever. "Him…?" Ginji looked over his shoulder to confirm what his mind had already suspected. He had recognized that chilling voice.

The bearded, white-haired assassin whom he dueled with the day before stood before him, his expression not rage-filled as Ginji had expected, but amazed and thoughtful instead. A drawn sword was poised and ready in his right hand. "You're the one named Ginji, am I right?"

Ginji nodded, eyeing the sword closely for the slightest warning that it would come streaking towards him.

The assassin lowered his sword so that the tip touched the ground. This action only heightened Ginji's guard, as he keenly understood how the sword was used in battle. "How do you know where to find me?"

Ginji could remain silent, tell the truth or give the smart-alecky answer that he believed Ban would give. Since not replying was rude and telling the whole truth to an enemy wasn't the smartest thing to do, Ginji opted for the third option. "We're the Get Backers. This sort of thing is our specialty."

The old man's lips twitched. "I suppose you've come for the boy?"

"Yes." Ginji's face twisted as he tried to look both apologetic and furious at the same time. "You've every right to be angry at me for hurting you yesterday, and I don't blame you for coming after me for revenge. But Ryuji is innocent! For you to involve him like this is… is… despicable!"

The old man's eyes flashed with an emotion that Ginji could not interpret. "If I'm after revenge, I would be seeking it from that other _dakkanya_ and not you."

Ginji blinked. "Huh?"

"You've nearly electrocuted me twice and also smashed my head with a rock. All said and done, they were only physical wounds and nothing that I wouldn't recover from." The old man did not notice that his only audience was showing signs of increasing perplexity. "What your fellow Get Backer did to me, however, I would never forgive. If I have the ability to kill him, I would."

"What?" Ginji was having great difficulty making sense of what the old man was saying. Who smashed whose head again? And what fellow Get Backer was he referring to? Ban? But Ban didn't…. What could Ban have done that was so terrible?

"But since I don't have that ability…" The old man sighed ruefully and smiled at him. "Be at ease. I promise I won't draw my sword against you or those two other boys for now." To prove the sincerity of his words, the old man slid the blade of his sword back into the scabbard strapped to his waist.

"What?" Too many questions flooded Ginji's mind, exceeding its limited processing capacity. He grasped at the last thread of the conversation, at the offer of a peaceful resolution. "Why? After what happened yesterday… What changed your mind?"

"I'm a professional," said the old man. "I don't blur the boundaries between what's business and what's personal. If my client is well enough to pay me for your execution, I would gladly finish my job. As he's not, I see little point in continuing our fight."

"Then why did you kidnap Ryuji then? What exactly do you want?" There, the question that had been burning inside Ginji for a long while now was finally out in the open.

"Before I give you my answer, can I ask you something?"

"Uh… sure."

"Are you also a professional?"

XXXXXX

The first thing he did upon arriving at the garden was to look for something that could be used as a weapon. It was truly stupid of him earlier to sneak out of the kitchen without even thinking of arming himself with one of the knives there. The thought only occurred to him when he was halfway to his destination; and he could not find the courage to retrace his steps by that time. He had been unbelievably lucky so far and he had no desire to push that luck beyond what was reasonable.

Crouched and crawling, Ryuji searched the grassy ground for broken branches or stones ideal for hurling. Unfortunately, whoever had maintained the pristine state of the garden seemed to go out of the way to remove everything that was even remotely capable of causing actual physical harm. The whole place felt like a child-safe playground for god's sake. Maybe he should just concentrate on finding a means to escape instead of a weapon. He studied the wall that surrounded one side of the garden and knew straightaway that climbing it would require grappling hooks and ropes which he didn't have. He had hoped that there would be a tree tall enough, and near enough to the wall, to be of use to him but that was where his luck had failed him. All he could see in the garden were shrubs, potted bonsais, short flower-bearing trees that could never support his weight and…

That was when he saw her. Hair as red as autumn leaves, skin so milky and pale to the point of translucency. She was sitting in a wheelchair near the bamboo water feature that had frightened him earlier. Even when he stood up and approached her slowly, she did not move or utter a sound. Ryuji knelt before the young woman and peered up at her expressionless face and empty eyes. A suffocating feeling of heaviness pressed down on him, for he recognized her for what she was. A _ningyo._ A soulless being who is alive in only the physical sense of the word.

He did not know how long he knelt there, watching the young woman and ruminating over duty and dreams. After his encounter with the Get Backers, he had come so close to abandoning what he had deemed his life's purpose. He had thought to live his life free from the ties of his past, but it was not meant to be. As long as there were _ningyo_ like the one before him, he couldn't.

The tenor voice of a young man startled him out of his reverie. "Lady Yuuko, I've brought you a cardigan…"

Ryuji straightened up and whipped his head around so fast that he nearly lost his balance. The young man in front of him, most likely a manservant judging from the neat, wrinkle-free suit he was wearing, was gaping at him in shock. Ryuji was certain that his own expression was no different but he was able to recover his wits more quickly. His eyes fell on the water feature next to him.

"You!" cried the manservant, moving towards him purposefully. "Get away from—"

By then, Ryuji had torn the piece of bamboo out of its fulcrum and was pressing the sharp end of it against the young woman's throat. The manservant froze. As expected, the _ningyo_ did not even flinch.

"How dare you raise your hand against Lady Yuuko, punk!" exploded the manservant, quivering with rage. "Release her this instant!"

Ryuji winced at the loud outcry. If the old guy turned up, he was as good as captured or dead. "Keep your volume down, pansy, and she might just live." Ryuji had no intention of making good his threat but he had to demonstrate how serious he was. He deliberately increased the pressure of the bamboo's sharp edge on the young woman's throat until a bead of blood seeped out. "Now show me a way out of here or I'll—"

Ryuji miscalculated. The manservant went berserk and charged like a crazed bull when he saw the blood. Before Ryuji could react, he was down on the ground with surprisingly strong hands wrapped tightly around his throat. The piece of bamboo had flown out of his hands when he was knocked over, so Ryuji could only fight back barehanded, street fighting-style. He attempted to claw his opponent's eyes but his shorter arms made it impossible. His legs were pinioned onto the ground, so the option of kneeing the groin was out. That left his teeth, but unfortunately there weren't any body parts of the manservant within reach that he could bite. In the end, he could only try to reduce the pressure on his windpipe by pulling on the hands that were trying to choke the life out of him. He was losing the battle and the edges of his vision were beginning to darken.

"Until this cursed fate comes to an end…"

The eerie words seemed to come out of nowhere. Was he hallucinating? Was that the summoning call for those who would soon be dead? Ryuji tugged ineffectually at the hands around his throat. _I don't want to die. Not yet…_ _Not now._ Tears trickled out of his eyes. Tears of frustration and unrealized dreams.

"… strike with those poisonous fangs!"

There was a sound of something solid shattering, followed by that of falling rubble. The pressure on his windpipe eased and he began gulping air hungrily into his oxygen-starved lungs. The next thing he knew, the manservant slumped over him, unconscious. Ryuji hadn't yet recovered the strength to push the body off him, so he just lay on the ground and concentrated on breathing instead. '_What just happened?'_ wondered his dazed brain.

Someone pulled the manservant's body off his chest and he squinted up at his mysterious rescuer. With his vision blurred by tears, he could only make out the spiky hair. "Ginji?" Ryuji whispered, his voice croaky. More tears were threatening to spill out of his eyes. _I will protect you._ Was his dream an echo of the truth after all?

His spiky-haired rescuer roughly prodded his side with a foot, causing him to grunt. "How long are you planning to lie there, brat? If you're not dead, get up! I don't have all day."

_Porcupine-head?_ "You jerk!" It was almost a reflex. Ryuji scrubbed his wet cheeks furiously as he got up. "Who asked for your help anyway!" He looked around and saw the huge hole in the wall that surrounded the garden. Did Porcupine-head do that? How was that even humanly possible? But then, he should have given up trying to apply his common sense when it came to predicting what the Get Backers were capable of.

"Someone who's paying me for hauling your sorry ass out of here, twerp," growled Porcupine-head irritably. "Don't even think for one second that I'm here because I'm the least bit concerned about you. Coz I'm not! Get that fact into that thick skull of yours!"

"Jeez, I get it already! You don't need to tell me that! I know you'd rather see me strangled than lift a finger to help if there wasn't any reward in it for you." Ryuji frowned as a thought occurred to him. "Who's paying you…?"

"No time for idle chit-chat. We're getting out of here now." Porcupine-head walked towards the broken wall and signaled impatiently for him to follow.

Ryuji remained standing where he was. "Where's Ginji? Isn't he with you?"

"Ginji is busy dealing with a problem near the entrance of this house, so—"

"Actually, no. He's right here at the moment."

Ryuji let out an undignified squawk and came as close to fainting then as he ever did in his fourteen years of life. The old assassin had crept up behind him so silently that he wasn't aware that someone was behind him until he felt the breath on the back of his neck.

Both Porcupine-head and Ryuji turned abruptly and saw Ginji standing beside the assassin. "Sorry, Ryu-chan, we didn't mean to scare you. We came here as soon as we heard the noise and… I… I'm very relieved to see that you're alright." Ginji's voice became thick towards the end of the sentence. Ryuji was still too stunned to appreciate the worry in Ginji's eyes and the warmth that enveloped him as Ginji hugged him.

The old guy knelt down to feel the pulse of the unconscious manservant on the ground. Satisfied that his servant was still alive, the old guy proceeded to check up on the young woman in the wheelchair. His eyes grew gentler and sadder when he looked upon her.

Porcupine-head burst out, "Ginji! What the hell are you doing, fraternizing with the enemy!"

"He's not an enemy, Ban-chan," protested Ginji in a reasonable tone of voice. "Not now, at least."

"Not an enemy!" yelled Porcupine-head exasperatedly. "In case you've forgotten, let me remind you that he just tried to murder you and the brat yesterday! If he's not an enemy, what is he?"

Ginji scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "He's… um… I think he's our new client."

In response, Porcupine-head opened and closed his mouth like a beached fish.

"Can I invite the three of you to the lounge?" The old guy pushed the wheelchair with the young woman up a ramp leading to the verandah. "We can discuss my proposal further in a more comfortable setting."

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**Author's note:** A big thank you and a belated Happy New Year to anyone who's still following this story despite my horrendously slow and infrequent updates. The story is trudging along at the pace of a dehydrated snail, but at least it's still trudging right? Thanks Rabid Lola, for telling me about the honorifics used by Ginji, and Daemonchan, for the info regarding how small the trunk of a Subaru-360 really is (Unfortunately, I'll have to stick to what I've written in chapter 3 as it's just too much fun locking Ryuji up in the trunk— which, in fact, is located at the front of the car I now realized). Yes, as you can tell, I like feedback of any kind :) Thanks to all who reviewed. An extra thank you to Iris Domingo for beta-reading this chapter for me.


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